I thought I was worrying about Susan because of her awesomeness (which I was). I thought I was emotional because I was overthinking my own mommy heart with a son born months after hers (which was true too). I thought I was holding Marty close to my heart because we’ve shared a handful of moments (I was, and we have).

I saw their teenage faces and knew with certainty that those girls were the kindred spirits of my teen years. I had missed that under the gloss of “adulthood” and labels like “musician” and “honest to gawd rocket scientist y’all”. Seeing that picture – I believed that given the opportunity, we could have rocked the back of an English class – getting As and passing notes.

Marty and Susan are the real life Anne and Diana.

In the two weeks from Susan’s last words to the readers (the last word she typed was HOPE – did you notice?) to Curt’s first words – I waited in that gap for news. Wanting to ask, but knowing to not. Not reading until after that Marty felt it too – knew about the crickets ….

Best friends for 25 years. I saw the bloggity bits of that friendship. While I’ve cried over Susan, I also have some sense of her being okay, and past the cancer and past the unfair fucking pain of the cancer. It’s Marty who twists me to the fetal position. For as honest as Susan was about living with cancer, Marty is honest about living after Susan.

Marty, the Susan shaped placed in your world is enormous, for she was yours – your person – your longest love – your best friend. Please believe that as Kristen said, you aren’t alone.  You’re in the darkness of these first days – but know that just out of your sightline are your people, right here for you. When you are ready.

“I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?” (Last line in Stand By Me)

I could name a hundred people who would know exactly what to look for in that list – Indigo Girls, James Taylor, Styx ….

Those same people know the importance of the phrases “Polar Bears”, “The Bell”, “Aunt Jean”, “Three Tiered Dress”, “PnL”, “Hey Jean, What’s the temperature?”, “Wolf Spider”, “Blue Ball”, “Whats the chances”, “So there I was” …. and OF COURSE … the response to the shout out “PENIS!”

Twenty years ago this summer, I stood on that campground for the first time. I met people I loved on sight and others I only came to love these 20 years later.

I gave testimony in front of hundreds of people about how that single week changed my life. It pulled me out of my small town at the critical moment when my school friends all seemed to make decisions that blew their lives apart. That week gave me a different place to go, to focus, different people to love.

We kissed, we prayed, we drank, we got nekkid, we floated, we laughed, we smoked, we smoked, we talked, we loved.We used to write letters . . . then some newfangled thang called “email” – using school computers with green teletext and no graphic abilities.

Now we use cell phones, and texts, and facebook, and hell, this blog on occasion.

We graduated high school and brought new people into our midst. Shared more music, hot toddies, roadhead tapes (different story, different day), skipped classes, told stories, took roadtrips, saw concerts….

They sold our camp land, but we’re still here. A gathering of angels … Still together … Just grayer …. well not ME of course …

Those weeks are those rosy times that I remember as “the best of times” …. campfires, music under the stars, cute boys, good girl talks….

I miss my friends. I miss having the schedule on the calendar when we all knew that whatever was going on, we would be together again. When we were as close as a drive and not a flight plan. I miss you my friends. Tonight I’m flipping on the music and closing my eyes and praying that I meet you in the morning in the dining hall …. or at least in my dreams tonight.

Anyway.

I threw up.

Easy as can be. None of that staring into the porcelain God misery waiting for the gagging to start. I spit a bit and realized how much better my stomach felt.

Then I realized I had no idea where the fuck I was. It was dark, cool things pressed my body, and the last sounds of the toilet flushing were behind me.

Huh.

Oh right. I’d woken up at midnight-thirty and decided I needed to go to the bathroom. I’d felt a little green and rocky.

As best I could tell, I had, in a major class act, passed out on the toilet like Elvis, fallen on the floor between the toilet and the tub, and proceeded to yak. On myself. The tub. And the floor.

I sat up, turned on the light, surveyed the damage. Got paper towels and started swiping up the mess.

I wondered for a moment if I was dead. Because in the middle of the night when you’ve opened your eyes after falling on the bathroom floor, hey, anything is possible.

I wondered if I should call someone. Alex had slept through the scufuffle (Is too a word, spellcheck). It was snowing outside, everyone I knew was sleeping. Except one.

I thought about the Dude and man I wanted to pick up the phone and call him. He was awake at work. I measured the level of tragedy in my mind. If I was truly in trouble, I knew he would come to me. Was I in THAT much trouble? I thought about calling and waking my mom to come over in the cold and snowy night. Was I in THAT much trouble? I thought of all the possibilities.

I felt around to see if I was hurt. I think I smacked my forehead when I went down. But I didn’t seem dizzy or stupid or in danger.

I went back to bed. Emailed my mom that I’d gotten sick. Then rested restlessly the rest of the night.

I stayed home from work, considered going to the doctor, passed on that in favor of sleeping the entire day.

It was another one of those times that I realized, MAN I’m on my own. And MAN I’m having to learn when to ask for help and when to suck it up. I was determined to go to work today, until I realized getting out of bed wasn’t so much possible. Which apparently is a prerequisite for actually going to work.

I think I probably should have asked for help in the middle of the night – but there wasn’t anything to be done.

It’s just one more damn surreal lesson in this whole growing up thing.

2. If the relationship has to be secret, it shouldn’t exist.

3. If he says he “can’t” shake off a girl, it’s because he doesn’t want to. If my gut is pinging, I should listen.

4. I can tell a lot about a man by his offspring.

5. If I try to do something nice and he says “you don’t have to do that”, I shouldn’t waste my time.

6. Related: If I feel like he needs mothering, I should move on. I have a son, I want a partner.

7. Chemistry is damn important. Fire and melting – not just for makin’ s’mores.

8. If he’s whining about his life and not doing anything about it, I should let my foot hit him in the balls as I walk out the door. See also: #6

9. If he’s shouldering responsibility and doing his best, I can offer my support, and then trust him to know what needs to be done.

10. I am happy with myself and the life I have built, I am beginning to be ready to try.

This list is not exclusive.

It is purposefully not in any particular order.

It’s me giving back some love to those who have loved me well this year.

Thank You.

Amanda Magee – The Wink – http://amandamagee.com She inspires me. She supports me. She sends me love. She never, ever stops cheering for me.

Mishelle Lane – Secret Agent Mama - http://secretagentmama.com/ Hot photos of me. Lots of laughs in many hotel rooms in many different states. Shared information regarding the taste of, ahem, something that does NOT improve with age. (aka – Clean out the pipes guys if you expect any swallowing.)

Colleen Vanier – Mommy Always Wins - http://www.mommyalwayswins.com/ Fellow single mommy. She’s hotter than me though. I still like her.

Crystal – Ewokmama - http://ewokmama.com/blog/ Blogged with/near her since the very beginning. Always has my back.

Victoria aka VDog – VDog and Little Man (now with more offspring) – http://vdogblog.com/ The one honest enough to look me in the eye while I cry and tell me, “This ain’t good, I’ve NEVER seen you this way, you gotta cut this shit off, it’s bad for you.” Also. Boobs. And Xanax. And earplugs.

Cindy Wilkinson – PooBou - http://www.poobou.com/ Wine soaked dinner, many other drinks, a pregnancy, two divorces, a breakup, non sleeping children, survived the perks of being a crazy ass with each other.

TexasRed – Texas Red Books http://www.texasredbooks.com/ – We bonded because we were two timed by the same guy. Then she met her future husband at my wedding. Then my dad died the day of her wedding. One of us got the better deal here xoxo

Bridget Ivey – The Ivey League - http://theiveyleague.com/ Those are some awesome shoes

Susan Niebur – WhyMommy - http://toddlerplanet.wordpress.com/ Real live rocket scientist. Taught me the phrase “Just do it afraid”. Love.

Karla Porter Archer – there’s beauty in the chaos - http://karlaarcher.com/ – While finding her own truth, she supports mine. Which is pretty awe inspiring.

Flutter – Flutter - http://byflutter.com/ – my red lipped, ba-bam, spirit twin. Believed in what was right for me when I couldn’t see it myself. Also? Wants to perfect her junk punch.

Loralee Choate – Loralee’s Looney Tunes - http://loraleeslooneytunes.com/ – If I could put a Rick Roll in the middle of your flash mob, I totally would.

Jenny – Mommin’ it Up - momminitup.com – My inner guidance, that little voice telling me I can do it.

Rachel – A Southern Fairy Tale - http://asouthernfairytale.com/ – My first conference crush. She taught me that 4 year olds can pick locks with Barbie hands.

K. C. – Real Housewife of the Bluegrass - http://realhousewifeofthebluegrass.blogspot.com/ Asskicker. Which I need.

Kyla – Life With The Tars - http://khebert.blogspot.com/ Two kids. One husband. Med Student. Still comments on my blog while acing O-Chem. I’m in awe.

Marty – Don’t Take the Repeats - http://canapesun.blogspot.com/ – The sweetest heart. Ev.Er.

Shana – Gorillabuns - http://www.gorillabuns.typepad.com/ – When you build that Grandma’s Home Cooking-Butter n Bacon with Vodka drinks on the side Truck, you better come to my work I mean town. Cuz that’s REAL support.

Angie Lynch – A Whole Lot of Nothing - http://awholelotofnothing.net/ – Made of Awesome. Covered in Butter. Lovely, lovely butter. Holds my hand.

Grandy – Functional Schmunctional - http://functionalshmunctional.blogspot.com/ A comment from her makes me smile all freaking day.

List not complete. Small man insists on Go, Diego, Go Games and I must comply or possibly die.

Will you tell me it is nothing?

Or will you share with me a time you were scared?

Will you gaslight me?

Or will you hear me?

Will you tell me it’s no big deal?

Or will you tell me you will be here when I am done?

Will you look away, not wanting to see me?

Or will you stand with me?

If I tell you I am growing, becoming better, learning

Will you remind me of my faults and weakness?

Or will you tell me you see the changes too?

***

May those who love us love us.
And those that don’t love us,
May God turn their hearts.
And if He doesn’t turn their hearts,
May he turn their ankles,
So we’ll know them by their limping.

(Irish Toast)

***

My Monday brings me face to face with personal and professional demons. I’m trying hard to be calm and steady as I prepare for it. Things aren’t going my way, but the difference between now and other times is that I am learning to trust myself, I am working on going with the flow, looking for opportunities. I’m not sure what tomorrow will set in motion, but I am trying my best to believe that all will come for good.

I was *just* wise enough to realize that my fresh out of college self wouldn’t really have a clue for a long time how the whole “becoming” thing would unfold.

I had a notebook and one day my friend saw the notebook and decided to read it. She walked into my apartment and threw it at me. Yelling. “I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T FUCKING WRITE I WILL LOCK YOU IN A ROOM UNTIL YOU DO!!!!!” (Those weren’t her exact words, but she can’t remember shit, so I can take creative license with her words. You get the gist.)

My grandmas had different lives. Different challenges. So I’m not saying that their paths were easy (oh no, not easy), but there was a simplicity to their choices …. one marriage … one man … one home for decades at a time … one job … one small town … one church …

A decade out from writing that first page in that notebook, I look at the choices we have made – between my closest friends I can think of marriages, divorces, broken engagements, lots of sex, even more sex toys, foreclosures, multiple states, abortions, no arrests . . . oh wait . . . no . . . there was an arrest in Mexico . . . so scratch that “no arrests” thing, HPV, DOA, DMV, Zima, funerals, hospitals, children, weed, quitting smoking, adoption, therapy, weddings, quitting smoking, hangovers . . .

I’m quite sure our grandmas know very little of our experiences, and my head spins to think of them having any personal experience with most of this.

I remember at the first wedding of the group, the flamboyantly gay wedding coordinator said, “Oh you think ya’ll are open now? Just wait another twenty years and see how open you are!” (He said this just after two of us had a picture taken with our little pinkies twined together . . . a sign of solidarity poking fun at … uh …. someone’s … uh … little pinky. little bent pinky. Anyway.)

Next summer will mark the 20th year since these best friends began entering my life. It’s taken a while to find all the kindred spirits . . . sometimes it’s taken me longer than I like to admit to realize the person in front of me was, indeed, kindred. We’ve had conversations that opened with, “So I had a fart gone wrong . . . ” we’ve questioned some sanity (“Why did you take the Nutella home? What were thinking? reply “I was thinkin’ I was gonna EAT IT!”) . . . we’ve cried and we’ve smoked and we’ve prayed and we’ve loved. Which, three of those last four I know my grandmas did, too.

My grandmas had friendships that spanned decades – people born in the same town and buried in the same cemetery 90 years later. My friends and I are getting ready to start our third decade together – and with all the choices we have available to us I am suddenly still and awed and realizing how very, very lucky we are to still be choosing each other all these years later.

After my dad died, I felt like I should have a shirt with a blazing, “I SEE THESTRALS” across it. I felt so different, so altered, so raw from having him ripped from my life. To look at me, I was the same – maybe a blanker look or a redder eye, but a stranger on the street would have no idea how much I had changed in those hours. I felt like there should be some kind of marking so people would know to treat me with gentleness, because I was fragile as a frozen bubble.

Since then, me and mine have greeted several others into our parent-loss fold. We greet them with with open arms and tears and whatever else strikes us when we give the original greeting on twitter, a blog, facebook, or sometimes, even face to face. We hope we don’t insult anyone with our #ddc hashtags (dead dad’s club) It’s just that we understand you laugh at yourself or cry your eyes out. If we cry, we just might not stop.

My friend lost his grandpa last week. His grandpa who was the father of his heart. The man who he identified so closely with, loved so dearly. That man was gone and all he could do was send brief texts and cope the best he could while being the point man to make sure all the details were taken care of – the ashes to ashes practicalities.

I put on my heels and my church dress and made the solo drive to be there. I held my breath and walked into a new building full of people I’d never met. These are the things that terrify me – but if he could do this, so could I. I stood and waited for him to make his way near enough to me to see I was there. I hugged him, I met his grandma. She commented on how cold my hands were – I didn’t explain it was my fear of being around new people that had me so cold, I just enjoyed a grandma holding my hands in hers - I borrowed his grandma for that moment since mine have both gone on.

He showed me photos, he told me a story that only he and I would appreciate for all its flavors and feelings. No one else would have understood why we stood for a moment at the front of that chapel, swallowing hard. Acknowledging our mutual Thestral, if you will.

He looked at me – “I’m doing all right.” I looked back at him. So much I wanted to say. I hadn’t gone because I thought he couldn’t do it on his own, I didn’t care because I thought he needed me to, I had no doubts that this man was going to take care of every detail and every person who had a need he could handle. It wasn’t the time to smirk or joke or throw out a welcome to the club comment.

I looked at him and blinked. I took a breath. Instead of all that, I said, “I know you are. I’ve met you.”

We stepped away and he went back into the crowd. I tried to blend with the wall and assigned myself the job of watching his grandma – regarding her carefully, making sure she wasn’t alone. I thought of my Dad and all the services he watched like this. I thought of the chapel in my grandparents’ funeral home. I felt so useless – there was nothing for me to do but stand by and think about Thestrals and wish like everything he wasn’t seeing them too.

I’m alive only because people died. Well loved mothers and fathers, wives and husbands. Dead. In the ground. Cold and gone. So that I may be warm and alive and writing to you.

I am the 21st child in my family. Yes, you read that correctly – Twenty. First. I have 20 siblings – some who were cold and gone long before I was born. I have a sister just about old enough to be my grandmother.

I hope you want to know about me first – before we get to the cold and gone people. I am nine years old – I will be ten in just two months. I hate sewing, I hate cooking – especially the feeling of cold, raw meat against my hands, I hate cleaning. I like school and my books. I like to walk on the paths under the trees. My favorite flowers are lilacs. My family has raised me to be Methodist, but I’m not sure that I am. Sometimes I believe I see God winking at me in the sun reflecting off the lake behind our house.

I’m an okay looking child. In the summer my cheeks are usually bright red because I get hot too easily. My hair frizzes around my forehead like a fuzzy little halo. I love fresh, new and pretty dresses. Not that I have ever owned a brand new dress. I’m the 21st remember? Someday I will work hard and earn some money and buy my own pretty dress. One that no one else has worn, that doesn’t have a faint ring of sweat under the arm that is worn down thinner than the rest of the fabric. Someday.

Oh. I forgot to tell you. My name is Kate. I forget things like that sometimes. Manners and whatever. So, Hello. My name is Kate.

My Da’ is Scottish. He was 68 years old when I was born. He’s almost 79 now. An old man – older than most men in the town. He was married for the first time before my mom was even born. Well almost. I shouldn’t exaggerate. His wife Mattie had 10 children before her parts gave up and died, taking her with them. That’s what I heard said once when no one knew I was around to listen.

My Ma’m was 15 when she married “her Bobby”. So when I say I have sisters who could be my grandmas, I’m not telling a story. It’s true. Or could be true. Ma’m had four children and then “her Bobby” died. Seven weeks later she had her fifth child. Thirty-five days after that she married my Da’.

She was twenty-six. He was fifty-five. Without Mattie and Bobby cold and gone, they never would have gotten married and I never would have been here to tell you about it all.

I’d like to stay and tell you more. But I have to go. I think they must be done putting Ma’m in her best dress. The new one she’d just finished last week. Out of fresh new fabric with nothing worn out of it. Ma’m in her new best dress is going into a box to go in the ground to be cold and gone like the others. She made me warm and alive, but now all I feel is cold and gone myself.

800 See new student coming in with Principal, greet her like she’s long lost kin. Swap breakfast duty with principal, Hug a student back when she hugs me. Even though the hygiene is sketchy. Because I know things about this student that would make me scream in the night if I thought too much about it. Because if this student trusts me enough to hug me, I’m sure as shit gonna give this student that. Take new student to class. Help her choose what she wants for lunch, find her desk, find her a pencil because she has no school supplies. Hear secretary calling my name, while taking permission to test paperwork from a Kindergartner. Go see secretary, get supplies for new student that the office has on hand for students who just aren’t gonna get to go to the great wallyworld to get all new things. Put supplies on my desk to take to her later rather than strolling in “Hey! Here’s yer stuff!”

810 Trying to walk out the door to go to TWO IEP meetings, meet parent in doorway and schedule a different IEP meeting, talk to parent, walk to car, realize I’ve forgotten half my things, go back, get things, get to car, get to meeting 5 minutes late, which is fine because the parents haven’t shown. Commune with sped teacher about all our students.

840 Parents arrive after having a “livestock issue” that made them late. Discuss student one. They are grateful to hear we have ideas to actually GASP teach her since her last teacher said she would be surprised if she ever had the skills to leave home. Uh. No. See also. Duh dumbass teacher. Finish talking about student one, proceed to talking about student two, get phone numbers from parents so we can be sure we can get a hold of them when the inevitable behaviors of student two surface.

945 Return to my building. Take a lunch bag down to the Kindergarten. Peek at new student. Library duty. Mark absent student and mental note to see him later in the week. Document the five other students I didn’t see because I was in IEP meetings. Try to learn how to give a new test. Discover materials are missing. Email sped director about “hey I have a few hundred dollars of test here that is worthless because 13 stimulus cards of clouds and cowboy hats are missing.” Get supplies for new student to classroom teacher.

1110 Look up. Late to pick up “high needs student”. The one they all warned me about. Who I laugh about because she weighs 35 pounds dripping wet. I’ve been threatened by kids twice my size that I was going to be punched in the stomach. When I was pregnant. Before I was showing. This little squeak ain’t gonna phase me. Don’t care how many times she (practically unintelligibly) tells me “shit” “shut up” and “goddamnit”. Go get her. Artic drill her like crazy for 20 minutes. Take her back to class. About face halfway there. Take her to nurse. Because she’s peed out. Get Lysol from nurse and go spray down peed in chair in my classroom. Take her freshly changed back to class as I swing a plastic bag of wet shorts with a song in my heart and whistling a happy tune. Go to lunchroom to make sure my new student will get lunch even though her free lunch paperwork isn’t in the computer yet. Email sped director that I borked something in the computer and no longer have documentation for permission to test on a student who’s parents are not easy to get to respond to things like permission to test notes.

1150 Go to see “student two” who isn’t in his room because he’s in the “buddy room” take barely reading preprimer level in 4th grade student back to my room and watch as he dismantles electronics while looking for batteries as he tells me about being five years old and taking his dad’s motorcycle apart. Smile inside.

1220 Lunch duty. Find out a student has Aspergers and is on a 504. Wonder just who tf is in charge of that since I’ve never known about it. ID a student crying. Let other teacher deal with it. Golden boy of class had told him he smelled like poop because he didn’t wipe. Classy. Shake head as teacher puts golden boy at table alone for the duration of lunch today and maybe the next two days. Jackass.

100 – Observe 2 students in classroom. Take notes. Observe two more students in another class. Go to see other sped teacher, take squeak from pee story above out of her classroom to the principal’s office since squeak was throwing papers on the floor, leg clinging and starting to hit. Principal not there. Sit with her in office till she’s ready to try again. Walk her back to class, direct her on what to do. Watch her pick up papers and NOT ankle bite anyone. Go talk to OT, get cushion for chair to see if it will help a student sit still, take back to classroom, leave note for teacher about it. Glance in at new student. Talk to teacher.

225 Still in my building, supposed to be in other building. Call that teacher, reschedule for tomorrow. Realize I haven’t peed today. Go to workroom, get cut off by gym teacher. Consider peeing on his shoes, go to other bathroom instead. After getting another permission to test form out of my mailbox. Go get student, test hearing. For first time since grad school. Yay! The student can hear! Take her back to class. Reply to email, reply to email, reply to email. Give student two’s phone numbers to office, recite them three times for the three students from that family in our building. Realize student who I’m supposed to “buddy” to the bus on Wednesday will be buddyless today because both the other teachers are out. Go to Kindergarten, get one student packed up to go home, get the other buddy, get him on the bus, meet parent for IEP meeting [this parent used to live downstairs from the Dude and I [AWKWARD], she and her kids don’t recognize me thanks to being out of context, minus thirty pounds and 6 inches of hair] have IEP meeting, wave parent goodbye, mental floss that I have heard her headboard banging, sit at my desk and pant, the [work] day is done.

I guess that post is one that was in my head one way and came out another way.

I don’t like to be patient. I don’t like to wait and see. I want to know if my energy spent is worth it. Especially after spending so much of the last year on something most definitely NOT worth my energy and then recovering from said energy drain.

If I have an opportunity, I want to know how it will benefit or cost Alex and I. If someone is in my life, I want to know they are invested in me and in Alex. If I have a job, I want to know it will be there next year. If I have a garbage disposal, I want to know what to do when all it will do it sit there and hum at me and not let the marshmallows from the Lucky Charms go down the drain.

I’m not great at having faith, been kicked in the teeth one too many times for that trust to come easily to me. Right now I’m in a situation with an opportunity where if I just KNEW the outcome, I would be content. I DON’T know the outcome, and as my crystal ball is currently on backorder, my role is to wait and find my patience.

I also don’t want to make snap decisions – turn my back on an opportunity because I can’t get all the facts RIGHT NOW! The urge to say fuckit and move on is strong . . .

Emotions, Logic, Pro Con Pro, Sit silently, Pray, Resist. The. Urge. To. Push.

I’m trying to listen to my gut, since I’ve had plenty of lessons in that, and I thought I was getting pretty good at it, but right now my gut my mind and my heart REFUSE to come to any kind of consensus. They are all screaming too and I just. can’t. hear.

So I scream along with them, and like the mom who screams back at the baby because she just can’t take the screaming anymore – it doesn’t do any good.

So I chase my tail so far and fast that I’m motion sick and slightly crazy. (uh, crazier)

So I flip a coin – wait or run, wait or run – I drop the quarter before I am ready, I let it settle to the floor – sick because I think I know what side it is on -

I am wrong – it landed on the side I wanted -

And so I go on.

In my case it’s scream it out.

er. make that

SCREAM IT OUT

I’m just that mess of so much that needs to GET OUT

After a week of being sick . . . without energy . . . the walls of the house closing in as I can.not.function and can only sleep to get the will to get out of bed to cough another day  . . .

I am finally feeling better –  not perfect – but good enough to be stir crazy – to see the clothes on the floor and want to lose my mind.

I’ve had so much time to lay around and think and think and Think and THINK that my thoughts are a tornado of swirls and I can barely catch the tail of my plan, of my future, of whatever I’ve organized in my head to be my next step.

I settle myself into a plan – already forgotten by the next time I think about it – so I have to go through the motions of figuring it out again – spending that energy and that time slowing going freaking crazy in the swirl of thoughts.

I have no doubts about what is important. I *know* VERY CLEARLY what I want, what I hold most dear. I am done with the old, the broken. I know the direction I want to take my Alex and I, yet we aren’t moving that way – we are sitting at a red light of the intersection of life, watching the traffic whizzing by, inching forward , wondering if the sensor missed our presence, wondering just how long till we get to go OVAH THERE (for the loveuhgawd!)

I am standing here in my mental superhero cape poised and ready to jump but stuck waiting for the flag to drop to tell me it’s go time.

So I will sit here and SCREAM IT OUT.

You sound like a smoking vet
You’re not gonna sing at the Met
Smelly Dawn, Smelly Dawn
Wow barking co-ough!

Your students think you are insane
Your memory has gone down the drain
Its hard to know if they know their sounds
When your head feels like its in the ground!

Ev’rybody!

Smelly Dawn, Smelly Dawn,
You smell like vapo rub
Smelly Dawn, Smelly Dawn
Wow barking co-ough!