I refuse to write about the first day of school

Sorry to disappoint anyone. But although today is, in fact, the first day of a shiny new semester, the familarity of this semester outweighs any excitement I may have about starting again.

I will admit a few things have changed since last semester: I drove myself to school for the first time in a car that's completely mine. Yay! Both traffic and parking were a bitch though. I thought showing up an hour early would ensure at least a decent spot but I was sadly mistaken and ended up parking across the street from campus. Which means I'm not living on campus this go round either. In ways I miss living on campus (the simplicity, the ease of travel, not to mention the shortcuts that are impossible to take in a car... at least legally). Also, because my sister lives so far away, I have to be absolutely certain I don't forget anything. There will be no running back to my room real quick to grab something now. Sigh.

Also, I've only met 3 of my teachers today. One of which I had last semester so there was nothing special about that. The other was in a class of about 380 students so not much interaction there either. I am interested to see what my third professor's class will bring... She's like a mix of Mrs. Goodaker and Ellen. So maybe I'll blog about her class sometime later in the semester. But not today.

Today, I refuse to write about the first day of school.

.:~o*'Isianya'*o~:.

Inspired Inklings

You know, I had originally planned to frame this in a story. To mask my thoughts with quotes and narrative so that I could distance myself from this and its critique. But you know what? I'm tired of hiding. Part of being a writer (I think, at least) is knowing when to step back and write just for yourself sometimes. So here it is: a completely raw, honest look inside my head as I see it:

How do you know you're in love with a man?

You know you're in love with a man when you find yourself laying beside him, gently running your fingers through his hair watching as each strand folds under the pressure of your hand and springs back up again, poised and ready to be petted again; and you smile because you realize what a great head of hair he has and wishes he didn't cut it as often so you could appreciate moments like this all the time.

You know you're in love with a man when you begin to move your hand down to his face; carefully outlining his lips with your thumb, feeling the soft brush of his mouth against your finger and you sigh because you realize how gentle his kisses can be when placed upon your forehead, yet fiery and passionate when planted on your lips.

You know you're in love with a man your hand begins to turn and your palm scrapes against his chin and jawline; feeling the stubble he hasn't shaved yet because you surprised him by coming over so early (though you would have called ahead of time so he could properly prepare but you just wanted to see him so badly, you rushed right over without a second thought) and you realize he's perfect just as he is still in the t-shirt he wore yesterday and with bedhead.

You know you're in love with a man when he begins to stir from all your touches; when he smiles without opening his eyes and sighs, "Hey honey"; when he outstretches his arms to beckon you closer and you realize in his arms is exactly where you want to be.

You know you're in love with a man when you place yourself beside him so that your curves contour to his shape and he takes you in his arms and pulls you closer; and you realize your heart is beating faster.

You know you're in love with a man when he begins to slide his hands under your shirt, one over your bellybutton and the other rests on your chest, and you realize it doesn't matter whether you're sleeping in a big bed or on an old futon: this is the best position to fall asleep in.

You know you're in love with a man when you begin to drift to sleep yourself; when walls of the apartment fade away with each breath and you realize there is only one breath in the entire room: the two of you, together.

You know you're in love with a man when the rise and fall of his chest against your back in time with yours is like a gentle lullaby and the warm breath on your neck like a soft blanket enveloping you in security; and you realize this is how you wish to fall asleep every night for the rest of your life.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.

Kids Say the Darnest Things

Okay, so if you've talked to me in the past 2 months, you know I hate my job. Well, I guess I shouldn't say that. I can't complain about making $8.10 an hour, 6 hours a day, 5 days a week; never working past 6p; and having weekends and holidays off. But the children...!

I confess I do have a few favorites. Those are the ones that constantly remind me of the wide-eyed innocence of children, the carefree happiness that comes with no responsibility, and the stress-free outlook that accompanies not being able to think past age 12. I love those kids.

The problem is: There's only about 5 of them at daycare.

The others are selfish, temperamental, whiny, self-centered little bastards. Seriously. My coworker was approached by a crying little boy complaining about his classmate. "What's wrong?" she asked. The little boy sniffled and said, "Him won't play with me. Him said him not my friend." I looked over to see who the little boy was pointing to. The irritation seethed in my being. The crying boy was pointing at a kid I can only describe as a mini psychopath: All the crazy, half the size. I rolled my eyes and said, "Adam (that's the psychopath's name, Adam) is being a dick." Before this job, I would have never used that word to describe someone. Let alone a 9-year-old.

Still, the kids manage to teach me things. They open my eyes to how kids now see the world and what they're being taught by the media.

For example: There's this girl at daycare. Her name is Tatjana. We call her "Tot" for short; like Tater Tot. Tatjana is going to fifth grade. She's 10. And she's on a diet. One day while I was making my rounds about the lunch tables she shows me a picture of an outfit and says, "When I get skinny, I'm going to dress like this." Tatjana breaks my heart. Honestly, she does. She tells me things like, "This is part of my eating plan." It's part of her diet--which, according to her, is not just a diet but a "lifestyle". 10 year olds shouldn't have lifestyles! The saddest thing is Tatjana is not overweight by any means.

Then there's Emily. The funniest, liveliest, ...loudest girl at daycare. Emily's going to third grade. We were riding the bus on our way back from The Children's Museum and I was texting. When I was done, Emily caught a glimpse of my wallpaper. She looks at me and says, "Is that your boyfriend?" I told her yes. Instead of asking his name or how long we've been dating or even if I love him, Emily asks "Is he skinny?" I was floored. I asked her why she would ask me a question like that and she replies flatly, "Because skinny is better." If Emily were about 10 years older, I would have gave her some quippy response along the lines of Not if they're an ass. But Emily, being a kid, knows nothing about tact and says exactly what she thinks. All. The. Time. She's brutally honest, emphasis on brutal.

Another one is Isaac. Isaac is a little less favorable than Emily or Tot. He's a spoiled brat. Full meaning on both words. At daycare, we have a video game console. And the children each get a turn to play for a certain amount of time. They share and take turns. Now, while some of you may be following this concept perfectly, Isaac has a hard time grasping it. He wanted to play the game after Adam (Yes, mini-psycho Adam). I told him I'd come get him after Adam was finished playing. Well, Adam was playing with 2 other boys who got off the game before their turn was up. I told Isaac he could go play. He goes over to the game and refuses to play. I asked him what the problem was and he says, "I want to play the game!" I told him this was his chance. He starts to get upset saying he wanted to be first player. I explained to him that Adam was still playing but if he wanted to play (like he asked to), now was his chance. He starts huffing and puffing and getting angry saying, "But I want to be first player!I never get to be first player! I never get anything I want!" Because Silverstone doesn't run on vegetable oil, I use all my strength not to hit this little boy. I told him very calmly that I'm giving him exactly what he asked for: to play the game. Isaac storms off and starts crying angrily. He screams he hates daycare, wants to go home and never come back. If only I could have gotten that in writing...

These kids have taught me so much this summer. I feel I have a better understanding of the next generation. And I'm pretty scared.

.:~o*'Kaylyn'*o~:.