Why is 2020 so hell-bent on destroying us? This was one of the shittier weeks, and that’s really saying something. It lasted TWENTY-ONE DAYS! Every teaching task takes forever because it isn’t one task, it’s ten. And I’m not sure any of it is truly meaningful in the way I’d like it to be. Every evening this week, I looked at the clock and wondered if 9:30 was too early to call it a night and maintain the respect of my younger self. And then 7:00 AM would come too soon.
I spent the week mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausted. This school year is going to be tough. I keep telling myself that this week was only as bad as it was because it was all orientation-like introductory activities with our homeroom/advisory students, and that when we begin actual instruction next week, things will feel better. I hope this is true.
When the students rotated through their core classes for mini-class introductions, Joan and I presented a slide show of class expectations and general information about how ELA is going to work. As co-teachers, we attempted to present together. We took turns talking mostly effortlessly, but I was being displayed on the SMARTboard while she was physically present. The students could all see me, but I couldn’t see them. I could sort of hear them. What a weird experience.
This week also brought a rejection from the agent I’d gotten my hopes up about, news about JKR’s new book taking her further into TERFdom territory, and the tragic news of the nation’s loss of Ruth Bader Ginsberg. You win, 2020. You win.
Sunday
This puppy… she’s quite precious. But then again, aren’t all animals in their own way?
My dad is not a huge reader, but on occasion I can put a good book in his hands. During the portion of the pandemic when almost everything was shut down, I was able to get him to read a whole handful, including The Outsiders, The Wild Robot, Refugee, and A Long Walk to Water. The astute reader will note that those are all middle grade and young adult books. I like what I like.
I have, however, handed him an adult book once or twice. Most notably, I gave him A Dog’s Purpose for Christmas a few years ago. I think it may be the only book he’s ever read twice. He often shakes his head at my tendency to read favorites over and over, making a dad comment about how the ending hasn’t changed since the last time.
But this once he was compelled to read again. And compelled is the right word, because he claimed he didn’t actually enjoy it. He found it sad and slightly disturbing. But it festered. During a recent conversation, he admitted to me why it had gotten under his skin so much. It makes him look at Bailey differently, for sure, but it also makes him reflect on his treatment of past dogs.
To be clear: my dad has always loved the dogs he’s had. And always cared for them well. But he always had a somewhat Ron Weasley attitude toward them. Much the way Ron was nice to house elves but unaware of the ways in which he viewed them as beneath, my dad has always seen dogs as something a person owns. After reading that book, though, he began to question this outlook, and kept thinking back, hoping his dogs knew how much he appreciated their companionship. That’s the power of books.
Monday
Now that it’s just Sammy and me in the house, he’s ever more my little shadow. And I love him so much for this.
Tuesday
I finally got my living room wall decorated. Now it looks a suitable place for Ollie (the name I gave my new couch). And yes, those are floating bookshelves filled with my David Levithan books, and yes, that is an American Idiot Broadway production poster, signed by the original cast members. Because I’m next level cool.
Wednesday
I visited my parents after I spent the day at the school. Wednesdays are staff-only days, and teachers are not actually required to go to the building. I used the opportunity of the mostly vacant space to go in and get some work done with my co-teacher.
When moseying around my parents’ yard after, I decided I could use a little luck. I was still waiting to hear back from the big-time agent who’d requested the full manuscript, and I was thinking about how challenging this school year is going to be.
So I went to the lucky patch. I knew I’d find a four-leaf clover in the patch of grass right by the swing set. There are always four-leaf clovers there. But that’s because we don’t pick them. We find them and appreciate them, but leave them be.
Perhaps this time, though, I should have actually plucked one and taken it home with me.
Thursday
This is what my classroom looks like right now. This week has been filled with long days. I’m hoping next week will go a bit smoother for us. It’s too much to hope it’ll be an easier week once we actually start classes, but perhaps I’ll feel like all my efforts are more worthwhile.
Unfortunately, after a particularly long day, I got a response from the agent I’d been waiting to hear from, and it wasn’t good news. It was a thoughtful, personalized letter with kind, encouraging words. But it was ultimately a no. Usually the rejections roll right off me, but this one got stuck in my teeth. I felt deflated. I curled up under a blanket on the couch and tried to tell myself that a new day would bring a renewed sense of optimism and motivation.
At least posting about it on Twitter made me feel connected to an online writing community and aspiring writers all over. I was taken aback by the outpouring of support my tweet received. Overnight I went from a pathetic 22 followers (I was really just using twitter to follow authors), to a slightly less pathetic 130.
Friday
Friday did not bring with it the renewed sense of hope I was counting on. Instead it brought with it terrible news.
And so, I took the one shot glass I own — something Watson gave me a lifetime ago. Tacky, with a chipping pink flamingo. And I poured myself a shot of the Toasted Maple Liquor I have still leftover from the wine tasting tour I went on for Judith’s birthday six years ago in March of 2020 (just before everything went to hell). And I raised a glass to the notorious RGB. Thank you, Ruth.
We’re all really fucked now.
Saturday
We shared a chilly outdoor meal before Taranne headed back to Buffalo. It was the only glimpse I caught of her this time because now when she comes, she’s no longer staying with me. It’s too risky with the pandemic and her exposure to the people in her unit. But we had a chance to eat together, so we sucked it up and dealt with the crisp fall air.
Disclaimer: both those drinks are mine.