otra vez.

i drove to work this morning, glenn in the front seat. yesterday, he said he didn't have any gas and that he wanted to get back in the habit of riding his bike to work. even though he's got two cars and two jobs. and he wanted a ride today. i don't get him. he also said he'd rather do ELD at watsonville high. so i think i'd like rachel to be paired up with him. meagan and i will take pajaro valley high.

when i got to first period fifteen minutes late, mrs. hansen had made her kids get in their groups to practice performing their scenes they have to memorize. i sat at the back and she asked me, "james, are you working with javier and isaiah?"

"i guess."

"you're not sure?" she asked.

i shrug my shoulders, and say that i am going to work with them.

as i'm trying to help them understand the scene between gregory and sampson vs. abram and balthazar, she overhears me say, "A" for ay, and quickly corrects me. "aye," she says. after transcribing more of the scene in "modern english," i take a seat at the back, since she plays some audio recording of romeo & juliet, pausing it at certain intervals so that the kids can paraphrase what's going on. i read a newspaper article about alberto gonzalez and andrew card in 2004 trying to get ashcroft to sign a document to allow the nsa to eavesdrop on its citizens. the article ended with, "this is our attorney general, ladies and gentlemen. heaven help us." at this point, mrs. hansen asks me to make "about 100 copies" of some worksheet she has. i go to the teachers' lounge first, against my better judgment, only to find that it's awaiting repair services in "the am." so i head to the library, both copiers are in use, as suspected, one of them taken up by the same fat-head who made over 1,000 copies of some document the last time i tried to use it. i finally make the copies, all 100 of them, and return to mrs. hansen's room where she has me hole punch them. some english tutor.

and at some point during all this, i use the restroom and stare at myself until i begin to think my eyebrows are my eyes. they're large dark slits high up on my forehead. i deeply regret signing two years of my life away for a heavily taxed $8,000 education award. i hate myself for never having the courage to walk away. i'd really like to be doing anything: writing stories, writing songs, learning how to fish, how to fix things. but instead, i wander, class to class, like a foreign exchange student. too old to fit in, too young to be respected.

it's third period now. glenn hums; mireya sits at my desk, using my computer. i'm using glenn's. my way of leveling things.

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