I'm currently facing the greatest academic challenge I've ever faced.  It's killing me, mentally and physically.  This is literally kicking the shit out of me.  The way I see it I've got two choices.  Lay down and take it like a bitch, or grab it by the throat and fight back.  Personally I prefer the latter.  In years passed I may have taken the former; put my tail between my legs like a scared dog and moved on to the easier path.  No more.  I am the person that I am because I'm a fighter, not a scared little shit.  It's time to stop getting my ass kicked and start dishing out a beating.  It starts now. 

Dead Tired

I'm not writing, obviously.  For those of you who wonder why the answer is student teaching.  It's kicking my ass, beating me into submission, and draining me of all energy.  I come home exhausted to the point that all I want to do is eat and sleep.  I'm usually awake until at least 10 pm but usually closer to 12 am lesson planning, preparing, grading, organizing, and completing any other teacher-like tasks.  It sucks, I mean I love it when I'm there but I hate all of the additional work.  Plus I'm not working out as much as I'd like to be. 

Monday was my worst day yet.  I was evaluated by my supervisor and it didn't go very well.  It took a lot for me to keep it together but I did.  On Tuesday I took in all of my critiques and put together what was my best day yet.  It's pretty rare to go from your worst to best in just one day.  I was so happy on Tuesday because of the turn around.  Today was good too, but not as good as Tuesday.  Overall I'm feeling good about teaching, I just wish I wasn't so beat every day.  Oh well, bed time, just wanted to fill in the few readers I have left.  Until next time good night.  Hopefully I can put up a short fictional piece this weekend. 

My Attempt at Fictional Scene Writing

Waiting 

The wax paper on the bed stuck to my calves as I sat in the cold windowless room.  It probably stuck because I was sweating, while I waited for the supposed expert in the white coat to come back in the room.  I always hated hospitals and especially doctor's offices.  They're always so dark, windowless, and cold; so cold.  And since everything's made of metal or tile you always feel the chills running through your skin.  

I began to look around the cramped room for two reasons: boredom and the need to get my mind off of my present situation.  Besides the cold examination table/bed the room consisted of a seat and a small rolling doctor's stool.  You know, that tiny stool that they would roll back and forth on, writing down different observations on their charts and then coming back to get a better look at you.  By the door I could see the bio-hazard box where used needles go, and next to that a bottle of hand sanitizer and paper towels.  It's always interesting to see the different posters on the wall.  In this particular office there was one featuring both a male and female anatomy.  There was also an advertisement for flu shots beginning in the fall.  Going for my Flu shot was the last thing on my mind at that point, who even knew if I would make it to winter.

And then there was the smell; that consistent smell that every doctor's office has.  It's so artificial, synthetic, and even unnatural.  All of the linoleum, latex, and soap combined into that unnaturally clean smell that makes you so uncomfortable that you're self-conscious over a sneeze or a cough.  Besides the fact that hospitals usually mean that there's something seriously wrong with you, the smell always bothered me the most.  It's almost as if the synthetic smell of the hospital is a metaphor for the unnatural facade that is a hospital.  Doctors always act like everything's going to be fine when it's not, it's never going to be just fine.  They act like they have all of the solutions, when in reality I knew that ultimately I was screwed.  

Plus there are all of those stupid regulations.  For instance, I'm surprised they even let you enter the building without insurance credentials.  The second you enter the office they take your card and your copay, as if to say ,"We don't care how sick you are, no money means no care."  I often wonder when the day will come that uninsured people will enter the Emergency Room only to be left to die on the hospital floor in order to save the hospital a couple thousand dollars.  And then there are those stupid gowns.  I looked down at mine wondering why I even threw the stupid smock on.  The doctor's going to part it anyway to take a look at all of my parts so why not just sit there naked, behind a curtain or something.  If their rationale is that the gowns are supposed to keep you warm that's a joke.  How is a table cloth with holes for my arms that's about 1/2 millimeter thick supposed to keep me warm?  The goosebumps covering my body would argue with that rationale.  And just as I was about to say "forget it" and take the stupid thing off the doctor walked in.

He was a youthful looking man, probably in his mid forties.  He wore glasses and had his hair combed back in what I always considered the stereotypical doctor's haircut.  They always give you this smile-well usually unless they're so burned out that they no longer care about bedside manner.  You know it's a fake smile too; a smile that says, "I'm supposed to stay positive but in reality you're screwed, just like me, we're all screwed in the end."  Doctors usually stick their hand out too for the usual handshake greeting, but it always seems like they hate doing it.  I don't blame them, I wouldn't want to touch a sick person.  At least, not without gloves on.  The interaction is always so forced and stiff that sometimes I feel like doctors will be the first people to be replaced by robots.  At least robots wouldn't have to deal with the emotions of getting to know someone, caring for them, only to eventually see all of their patients meet their end.  It must be tough being a doctor; if I wasn't expecting to hear the news of my soon to be demise I might have felt for this guy a little bit.  

"So I have here the test results from your biopsy..." and then he just looks at me like, "do you really want to hear this?"  Obviously I want to hear this, that's why I'm here.  

"Just give it to my Doc; don't beat around the bush."  Just by the look in his eyes I knew that was the beginning of the end for me.  

*To those of you who read this it is completely fictional and not about me so don't panic and contact me.  I'm just attempting at writing something deep, with plenty of sensory details.*

My Knee Hurts

I just banged my knee so hard on my coffee  table.  Wow, most excruciating pain I've felt in quite some time.  I've got a pretty high pain tolerance but this was bad.  I seriously thought I shattered my knee cap.  It was like I kneed a solid wood corner with full force (unintentionally of course) resulting in a total dead leg.  I'm lucky we have a couch right there (then again most coffee tables are right next to a couch but I'm just giving you a setting here) because I collapsed.  It was like total dead leg, me on the couch wailing like a little girl pain.  Looking back on it it's funny the things going through my head.

First was the injury.  I thought worst case scenario would be shattered knee gap and/or ligament damage i.e torn ACL, MCL, or PCL.    Best case scenario bruised knee.  I was about to reach for my phone and call for either a family member or an ambulance that's how bad it was.  When I calmed down a bit I decided instead to wait another thirty seconds and see if the pain would subside, and then I would attempt to get up and walk around.  Good thing it wasn't serious because when I got up to walk around I didn't fall flat on my face and I only experienced some minor tenderness as I bent my knee back and forth a few times. 

While simultaneously thinking about the injury I  was also thinking about the implications on my everyday life.  My first thought was student teaching.  Would I be able to stand and run class discussions or would I have to constantly sit down?  And would I have to get an elevator key and assistance to get my things from one classroom to the other.  Basically it would make student teaching even harder than it already is, hence would be a royal pain in my ass.  Then I thought about P90X and Tony.  Basically ever workout requires you to be on both feet moving around and a serious knee injury would make it quite difficult for me to continue with the program.  Then again, there is that guy in the plyo video with the prosthetic leg, but he's pretty badass.  I don't think I've reached that level of BA just yet.  Again, same as student teaching, P90X is hard enough, not trying to add on any more difficulty with having to exercise while recovering from a serious knee injury. 

Right now I'm feeling alright, some tenderness but nothing serious.  I'm in Starbucks about to do some work on student teaching, either procedural stuff like resume work or lesson planning, I haven't decided yet.  I'm not super-motivated but that'll have to change.  I really wanted to go to The Willows today.  I didn't go to my favorite escape once this past summer, as if that's any indication of how busy I kept myself this summer.  Maybe I'll swing by and walk around for a little bit on my way home, it's been too long.  But anyway, I really hope this won't be one of those injuries where I'll wake up tomorrow and I won't be able to bend my leg. 

I wonder if this is an example of the big guy bringing me back down to reality, showing me I'm not indestructible.  Not like I think that anyway, but sometimes I feel like he just likes to remind us of who's in charge every now and then.  Wow that makes me sound like a total religious nut, don't worry I'm not, more spiritual than anything.  Super religious people freak me out and make me feel really uncomfortable.  It's like oh hey I devote my life to god so therefore I'm better than you.  Sorry peeps but if God wanted us to devote our lives to him/her/non-gendered being I think this world would be more like a prison than a playground.  Then again, maybe my new found knee pain is just karma swinging back around.  Not cool, just because I try to be a good person all the time doesn't mean I should receive excruciating pain when I mess up every now and then.  I'm only human after all.  So to whoever runs this little merry-go-round known as karma, I demand a retrial and some goodness thrown my way.  For instance, winning that $1500.00 scholarship I applied for would be nice.  Make it happen karma boss, Yonni needs a payday.  Alright then time to go and be a professional...this ought to be a challenge.  

I'll Write it all

Last day at Borders was today.  End of an era for me.  So sad that it had to end on such a sour note but oh well, life goes on right?  So that sucked, but on a positive note, college football returned today.  Oh how I love football, college and pro, and it always makes me feel so good knowing that football is back.  Especially since there was almost no pro football this year. 

Weekends like this one make me wish I had a shore house.  So many people are down the shore right now, grilling and enjoying the end of summer with their families.  It's always better at the beach. Maybe that'll be another addition to my wish-list, shore house.  Of course, I need a regular house first.  I could just buy my regular house close to the shore solving both problems.  In time I'll realize my full potential and make that paper so that I can buy whatever baller mansion I choose.  I'm really looking forward to sleep right now.  Kind of sad to say on a Saturday night but student teaching has really kicked my ass.  I've never wanted to get my eight hours moreso than this past week. 

I feel so stiff right now, like my writing is all forced unnatural.  I'm not liking it either, the words should just flow from me.  It sucks how a lack of energy combined with a mediocre day leads to poor writing.  Wine would probably help fuel a better product but sadly I have none right now.  Wouldn't that be cliche, seeing me sitting by a typewriter with a bottle of red at my side, in a dimly lit room that's barely furnished.  Hardwood floors with no rugs, one silly lop-sided painting on the wall that really doesn't make any sense, almost like someone gave it to me and I didn't know what to do except for put it up in my bedroom/study.  I imagine I'd be in jeans and an undershirt because when I lounge around the house I'm in jeans.  Lots of people prefer sweatpants or pajama pants but not this guy.  I actually find jeans comfortable.  The clock would read 1:45 a.m and I'd be scratching my head and beginning to pull out my hair over all of the drafts I'd started that ended up as paper balls near the trash can.  Here's where I'd break away from the cliche though, no ciggarette smoking.  Instead I'd do pushups and pullups to keep myself awake and sharp.  Sidenote:  funny how lately I haven't even enjoyed hookah or drinking, it's like my healthy lifestyle has made my body allergic to smoking and drinking (not that I did them often before but now it's very rare).  I wouldn't mind being the cliche struggling writer, as long as I was being published. 

Then again, maybe I'll just completely revolutionize that whole classic writer image.  I want to be really eclectic with my writing.  Novels, children's books, stand up comedy, plays, movie scripts, poems, short stories, flash fiction, movie reviews, sports reporting, and more that I don't feel like thinking about right now.  I want to do them all, I want to write in all of those forms and write well.  I've got to start getting a stand-up routine down so that I can make it to a comedy club soon and start to practice.  I like to think I'm a funny guy, and I know I have skin thick enough to take any boos and other forms of ridicule that would come my way from an unhappy crowd.  I'm starting to lose it, the Zs are coming for me.  No more brain strength, must go now before I pass out.  More tomorrow, hooray for long holiday weekend.   

Napping Required

I haven't been this tired since I started Insanity in the spring.  I'm not a napper, not in the least, but this week all I've wanted to to is sleep as soon as I've gotten home.  Crazy right?  Super energetic five year old me, all of a sudden tired.  I can't imagine how the people who usually don't have a ton of energy are doing.  Still I'm really enjoying my student teaching experience and I'm really looking forward to the challenges that are soon to come this semester.  I know that's a total cookie cutter answer but it's mostly true. 

Yesterday for about a minute and a half I was super excited.  I went onto apple.com/trailers and saw that there was Hunger Games trailer up.  Trailer my butt, it's a total teaser...so disappointing.  If you're a huge fan don't fall for this trap it'll only make you angry and you'll detest the advertisers for the movie.  Not like you even need to advertise it, it's going to gross hundreds of millions in the opening weeks.  Either way I'm very excited for the movie but angry about the teaser.  Give me a real taste for god's sake, none of that crap that's up there right now.  They did the same thing with the Dark Knight Rises  trailer too.  All scenes from the previous movies and then a tiny little clip of Gordon on a Hospital bed and Bane up close.  Then again, you really don't need to sell me on the next Batman movie.  Dark Knight already did that and now I'm just excited to see what they can come up with next. 

I'm hungry, time to go find food and clean more room.  Also, in the past couple of weeks I've fixed three different doors in my house, each of which required a separate repair.  Maybe if this teaching thing goes south I can open a handyman business.  It's good to have many talents, and I'm glad that I'm decently handy with household repairs.  There I go, tooting my own horn again.  Forgive me readers but my mind and body are so drained.  I'll generate something of substance soon.