I Can't Believe Some of You People Are Still On Here

And not in a judgmental way.  I just feel as though my old xanga days are a bit like that magic wardrobe.  Quite surreal, and perhaps they never actually happened?  But so much of my youth is buried in here, I feel the urge, from time to time, to come back and take a look.

I like to go see where I was this same week, x many years ago.  I teach high-schoolers now, with an SAT company.  I try to remember that they are just younger people.  If I can keep these years as part of the continued narrative of my existence, then I will be a better person. 

Life is never what we think it will be.  I finished an associate's degree a few months ago.  Trying to piece together the funds to go back to school in the fall.  My time in DC is drawing to a close.  I am heading for greener (northern) pastures, in the hard to spell state of Massachusetts.  Hoping to land a paid internship this summer, but who knows.  

Here is a line from a recent internship application, edited to tell the truth:

"Since graduating high school I have helped with two start-up non-profits (both as a grant-writer and as a board-member), backpacked a foreign country, taught in inner-city schools, presented workshops at schools and large conferences across the east coast and advocated for rape and sexual assault survivors."

I am probably both more, and less, impressive than this paragraph implies

Never the conformist, I am legally married to an ex-boyfriend.  It was a convenient way to pay for college. (Did you know the 3 ways to side-step the FASFA rules regarding parental contributions for persons under 24 are to be married, have children, or join the military. When we wonder about the values in this country, I often come to this.  What an odd and sad way to distill adulthood.) I live with another ex-boyfriend's family.  It's not fun, but I appreciate their kindness.  Three square meals and a bed to lay down in; that is the true essence of generosity. 

My parents are still insane.  I've had some therapy, may get some more.  The list is getting longer.  (Depression, anxiety, PTSD,  the ADHD, disordered eating and drinking habits, and a sexual assault.)  The worst on there is the PTSD, though the assault is a competitive second.  A lifetime of abuse is like a chronic illness. There's no real getting over it, but learning to manage is something the years have helped me get better at.

I've met three of the commenters from here in real life, and am happy to count two as among my closest friends. I am taking some time now to be slow with my love and relish the creation of life-long commitments.  A few true friends are what make the life worth living.  I enjoy knowing there is a cadre of future aunts and uncles for my children, though not of blood.  I want some semblance of healthy for anyone I force into this world.

I am a poly, feminist, kinkster.  I am living from hand to mouth.  My future is as precarious as that of a public school teacher in the state of New Jersey.  Maybe I will comment again on here in another three years. 

If anyone is out there, I hope all is well.  

Best in everything,

-Philosophress 

***Edit***

For old time's sake?   Found the internship (re:above.)  Thanks for the comments.  Will respond to the messages in due time. 

Still Alive

No Promises

To an ordinary human being, love means nothing if it does not mean loving some people more than others. George Orwell

Think about it.

Some Jewish Humor

Okay, so there's this one thing I really love about Passover.  There is absolutely no way you can get through a Sedar without being told about what God did for you when he delivered YOU from the land of Egypt.  Yes, folks - it's true!  Even you, a lowly American Jew can experience servitude, desert wandering and mana that falls from the sky!

Now, it's not that I am missing the point - I get it.  Once again we Jews are tracking lineage.  If my parents parents parents parents parents parents(^3) hadn't left Egypt, then technically, I'd be chillin' there too.  Even still, I have to love this one part of the sedar where there are four sons who ask some questions about Passover.  There's a wise son who wants to know about the laws from God regarding Passover. There's a simple son who must be kind of checked out since all he thinks to asks is "what's this?". There's even a son who doesn't know how to ask.

What really kills me, though, is the wicked son.  He asks "What does this drudgery mean to you"  The crux of this is that he says you and not us,  a grave offence to any semantically inclinded jew (i.e. - all of us), since it seems to imply that he doesn't consider himself among those God personally delivered from Egypt.

I can imagine what must have been going through this kids head last April.  He's sitting there, trying to remember all the vacations he's been on, every house he's lived in.   "Can't say I recall leaving the tri-state area.  I don't really remember any  servitude or brick laying, either. And you sure as heck can't tell me I was dragged across the desert for 40 years. I'm only 14, dude! Are you sure you've got your dates right - has any one checked Wikipedia about this?"  All of a sudden his show off big brother (destined to be a lawyer, I'm sure) starts asking about the rules of Passover. Can't he just wait 'til after dinner and google them or something? 

Not wanting to be shown up though, he figures he'll ask something too.  He's already established that he's never been to Egypt, but who knows - Mom and Dad look pretty old, maybe they have... So he asks "What does this drudgery mean to you?", thinking they might pull out some photo albums, show him the first pyramid they worked on together.  Instead he gets totally ragged on, labeled wicked, accused of insolence, and basically deemed an inferior Jew. 

I mean, here we are - a highly intelligent group of people stereotyped for revering doctors and lawyers,  and one of our best kept traditions involves dissing the dude with enough brains and balls to bother asking about the one thing we've all secretly been thinking.  Most of my family's from Canada, I am pretty positive not a one of us has ever lived in Egypt.  And to be honest, if not Moses, then the Europeans almost definetly would have kicked that Pharoah out of power. I appreciate the sentiment and all, but the only place I've been delivered from is my mother's womb. 

So instead of praising a kid with enough smart-assery to be the next Allen, Sandler, or Seinfeld, we hang him out to dry.  This kid must be sitting there wondering .."I guess I understand if they like Max's question better,  but if he really wants to be a lawyer, wouldn't he be better off asking about local ordinances?  Why isn't Dan in trouble for not even paying attention to what Dad was saying? And how can I be a worse Jew than a 3 year old? Aaron hasn't even had his Bar Mitzvah yet.  He's not even in Sunday school!"

I guess there really is no one better at guilting than the Jews...

Now, what I would really love would be to be in Egypt with my family during Passover next year.  That way I could lean in towards my sister after we sing the first verse of Dayenu and ask "Hey, um, Kara .. about that whole God bringing us out of Egypt line.  Aren't we, ah, in Cairo right now?"