The Wormlips Scrapbook

This isn’t good, this state of mind. Thoughtful classmates are suggesting I take a break. Like, leave town.

I had volunteered to be part of a committee that plans fun surprises for the other MATs, but at today’s meeting I kept saying, —”I want to do something that involves kicking. That, or hitting.”

Here’s a classmate of whom I’m fond. She’s wearing a coat she brought from her homeland.

Here’s a guessing game for you. She’s from:

a) Baja
b) The Amazon rainforest
c) Hawaii
d) Siberia

I got turned down for a Swine Flu vaccine yesterday because I’m too old. People over 49 can’t get the live vaccine because they might keel over and die on the spot, or something like that.

Yesterday Adi & her mommy Lucille came to visit me. It was so great to see them that I started to miss them the second they arrived. It was surrealistic to see friends from Real Life here, sort of like being visited in a mental hospital (I guess). They made me laugh a whole lot. We laughed and sang and made faces and spoke in funny accents. Here’s proof.

Adi or Lucille: The people who come to my blog are friends, some of them mutual, so if you don’t want this video here, tell me and I’ll rip it out by the roots.

Here are some more pictures. In the second you can see Adi holding my just-completed assignment for Second Language Acquisition. She’s the only person in the world who understands how absurd it is, so I gave it to her. Strangest of all, she actually wanted it.

After Adi and I rubbed noses goodbye (it’s just something we do) and I hugged Lucille a few times and I watched them drive away, I was one sad puppy.

One of my classmates who agrees that I need a vacation suggested I go to the White Mountains in New Hampshire, which is a great idea. My grandparents used to have a cottage there and it would be fun to see if I could find it. To hell with homework deadlines. Time to blow this Popsicle stand before I turn to complete mush.

Something bad is happening to my skin. It’s getting thinner. Things that didn’t used to bother me have started to bring me down. A couple weeks ago things were rolling off me. Now it’s part of my daily rhythm to feel picked on or ignored or misunderstood. Like what happened yesterday. I’d spent a week working on a presentation that was due at 8:30 on Monday morning. I stayed up till 1:00 a.m. Saturday night to finish, missing an event I’d wanted to attend (the Keene pumpkin festival). Class began, and one by one the teacher chose people to lecture. The time limit per person was six minutes. Everyone went ten or fifteen. With four minutes left in the class I was the only one who hadn’t been allowed to speak. “Is it okay if you go next week?” the teacher asked. It was not okay, but what could I do. My anger was no secret. Today the teacher apologized again, and since the two of us were alone I vented. It is unacceptable for a teacher to demand timely completion of gnarly tasks only to screw up on their classroom management. I’d done a fancy PowerPoint presentation, spent of ton of time finding good Farm Security Administration images, selected some music, brought in treasures from Mexico (one of which broke enroute). I wasn’t happy.

I know it’s a problem with my attitude more than with my surroundings.

Here’s a picture of me co-teaching a phonology/connected speech lesson that same afternoon. I look like I’ll bite someone’s head off.

The last few days, every ten minutes or so something knocks my spirits into the dirt. I’m the only one who has no idea what they’re talking about in Kiswahili class. Does that colleague think I’m dominating the conversation? That teacher must not have read my paper carefully if she made such a clueless response. No one listens to me. I am a slow learner. Things that normally make me smile in a spirit of camaraderie leave me stony-faced. I’m a big drag.

This afternoon I went and hid under a tree for a while, waiting for my next class. (It was sunny and in the low 60s today!) I curled over my knees and my eyes unexpectedly went teary as though I were a rheumy old man in a strong breeze. At that moment one of my Kiswahili classmates walked by and sat down with me. “I’m sitting here because I don’t want to talk to anyone.” I said. “Well, I mean, except for you, of course.” And actually, I did want to see him. I like him. Hard to make that clear with your foot in your mouth and your skin like parchment.

I tried to get a swine flu shot today but got turned away because I’m too old. The geriatric version won’t be out for another while.

I sure hope my mood swings back. Nothing that a little Norco wouldn’t help. Oh well. I should try to go get a massage.

Back to work now, but what I really want to do is sleep.

The MAT (master of arts in teaching) workload is intense and without respite. So for levity if not education, two professors planned a surprise activity. They had us reenact a pedagogical version of the Dead Poet’s Society.

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By the way, see the little garage thing in the background? It was the original (and only) classroom for this program when it began 41 years ago. Needless to say, they point to that building as evidence that this, too, is an Ivy League School.

I stayed on campus working for several hours after class and then decided to stick around even a little longer to hear a presentation from a Rwandan (Tutsi) man, Joseph Sebarenzi. —“Many people ask me how many relations have I lost,” he said. “But you know, I’ve never had courage to count.” His mother, father and seven siblings are among the dead.

He ended up speaker of the Rwandan parliament, but when he took a stand against the (unofficial) dictatorship, he was forced into exile.

I bought his book (God Sleeps in Rwanda) and, while in line waiting for him to sign it, got to chatting with my teacher Elizabeth. She told me about a three-week-long SIT program that he leads in “conflict transformation across cultures” which begins the Monday after we finish our MA classes in June. I’m tempted, but I’ll bet it’s too pricey.