Fuzzy friends

The time has come to admit that Sir's obsession with being a Miss is going to cease for about 6 months. Phew!! Being a small furry beast in a big school in the dust bowl of the outer west (yes, a reference made over and over... Sir realises this too!) has drawn to a close for a while, at least in such a serious manner. What an enormous pleasure and privilege to wake up in mufti. The cute green creature pen certainly expresses the inexpressible. Any concerns about identity are wiped away by the thought of loveless interactions with feral children in unknown schools.... and perhaps the school that Sir does know. But... time to relax and enjoy, well.... time.

Coupla dayes.... Coupla Dayes.... beauoootiful.

Thanking the anonymous commenter on the actuality of being upwardly mobile.

Sir now faces the challenge of being downwardly mobile. The time draws near to time off and anyone who teaches will appreciate the desperate nature of the last week in term two before the holiday. Things are strange here in the ranch of western suburbs blues. Sir just read the blog off a friends website and was reminded of the curious thing of beige writing. Sir cannot imaging anything worse than thinking that she was good a writing and, then being not good at writing and not knowing it.

Was it the content? Was it the the strange pictures or was it the almost anal referencing to nothing at all? Sir is confused. A smart friend should have smart friends, ay? Perhaps it is the cruelty of never being taught the correct cultural capital of certain things. Maybe it is because everyone has a bloody website these day.... who knows?

Anyway, in the land of western suburbs blues Sir has 2 more days to go, and then looks into a future of lightness that is the CRT... and hopefully not too much of that! A living must be eeked out, and strangely the feeling of unknown has a curious lightness to it.

Not another bloody Tuesday

Its official. Sir has had it with this teaching game. Exams, crappy kids, ratty contract staff who won't be re-employed. The letters to various close by but not dodgy Secondary Colleges lie in a pile on the lounge room floor. Thoughts of no, not ever, whatever.... fleeting moments of clarity. Would it be bad to leave and never ever return?

Sir has been thinking a lot about identity. Granted, it is the main theme of this blog (she thinks!). Time to go... but what then? How to be a person outside this thing that is created when one becomes a professional. Sir thinks that professional might just be another word for tired, or burnt out, or not thinking. Black times.

Is it a reality of the socially able that being engaged in the endless mindlessness of never ending working is bearable? Or is it that people just get the shits with not having enough money and decide that swallowing corporate, goddess, even worse, state governement spewtum is ok? Its a toughie. But most of the interesting people Sir knows are from many backgrounds and will have a journey into many other planes of being in the future. Sir always knew that the end would come one day. Is this it?

Strange slow morphing times

This post is long overdue. Sir writes it in the study, with the slow pulsing of the washing machine in the fore-ground and the sweet dulcet tones of Neko Case in the lounge room. Perhaps it is time for Sir to stop writing in the third person, as she slowly detracts from the identity of mentor, teacher, role (mother) model.

The letter of acceptance came to Sir early this week. Some time off. An affirmation of the value of her as a member of the community of the Western Suburbs school she teaches at. 

Teaches. An interesting description of the dull classroom management that Sir has been engaged in recently. The life changing event that has occurred recently has put words like detached, uninspiring, into Sir's mind. At the funeral, Sir was approached by so many people... and it seemed to be easy to put on the mask, to be in the limelight.

Not so now. Now it is just hard. Now it is just heartbreaking. The time drags at the salt mine. The children know. They always know. Surprisingly gentle and unobtrusive. Sir walks down the corridors and the children don't jump out of the way... they never have. Why would they now?

Who ever put the idea out into the community that 15 and 16 year oldies are difficult and self centered was wrong. Uneducated. Never spent a deal of time with youth. Never felt the hand of year 10 student on their back in a gesture of condolence, never heard the attempts at humour to crack a smile. Never felt the envelopment of a crowd of eager teenagers asking "but where have you been?", "But are you okay?", "This is for you".

I always thought that time I would spend away would be about study or moving overseas. I thought that there would be time to continue in the persona that I had before my mother died. I didn't realise how much of my identity was sewn up in teaching, in the person I become in the classroom. 

Now the investment seems strange. I am not the person that I was a month ago but I don't grieve for that person. She is gone. A replacement in my being has occurred. Too soon perhaps, too young definitely. The replacement is this. I feel my mother in the classroom and in the school with me. Sounds strange and a little silly perhaps, yet it makes me happy. I know that she can see me, hear me, feel my emotions, read my thoughts and see my plans. She is no longer a stranger to a part of me that in life she could never see. A part of me is never alone while she is in my head and watching me do what I have done and will do.

You've got cock sucking lips

A couple of little beauties before Sir sinks into a haze of  holidays and pressing family business. 

The title of this blog-post refers to a particular young man who fits into the Melbournian inner North and Western suburbs 'Arabic gangsta' stereotype. Apparently he was suspended for telling another student that his lips were particularly attractive... was he inferring that his peer was gay? Sir would have responded with "why? do you want a head job?". 

One of Sir's dear friends has scored a job until the end of the year working as a junior Science teacher in 'Broady'. Cock sucking lips aside, Sir feels that the overtly mannish nature of this teacher friend will help in the fight against blatant heterosexism.... but wonders if  the suit fits rather too well? White, sport loving working class girl seeks similar position to  maintain status quo. Is Sir being too cruel?

It's ok, there is nothing you can say that I haven't heard before.

Excuse me Smiss.

Um, Sir? Can I get some help?

Do you watch the Ellen Degeneres show? Isn't she a lesbian?

She likes girls, right?

Have you even had long hair?

Er, can I help you set that up sir?

Hey mister! Pass the ball!

Hi five, bro.

Sorry, Dad.

Criteria: Teacher

Applicant: Positive role model.

Sexuality: Irrelevant

Gender: Should good with both

Necessary: Flawless boi walk, hard stare and soft eyes.

Mandatory: Sense of humour

Today all they wanted to talk about today was Sir's gender... sexuality... errr, hair. 

Coupla boys that mistook me for a Miss earlier in the year realised I was  Sir and agroed up for a while. Corridor scattered as I walked down it this morning. 

Offence? None taken. Tomorrow will be back to normal.

She's a Gansta!

Returning to the unreal world of reality has seen Sir immersed in a whole new series of classes for the year. Good things have come over the holidays.... a new position that is not co-ordination has allowed for a much more relaxed start to the year. Wot a relief. 

Sad news has also come over the holidays.... Sir's faithful partner in crime, a true blue Croatian battle axe has has a mastectomy and will be facing chemo and radiation therapy over the next 6 months. Much sadness and support will follow for this woman that Sir highly respects and admires.

Crusty and inappropriate as it is, Sir must comment on the amusing situation that has unfolded because of this heavy situation. Misogynist hairy has seen his day.... a leader he will be! And golly, what a leader he is turning out to be. A never-present holding-up-the-law type of guy he has never been, however how fortunate that he has managed to step into he role of co-ordinator after Sir. What smooth sailing! After all of the hard work of weeding out difficult students and teachers alike, setting up procedures and negotiating strategies, squeezing blood out of a stone and showing that there is hope for good natured sweet mouthed sober young people in society. At least in the outer west...

Yes, Sir is a little grouchy. She admits that timing has never been her forte. However neither has taking on a role that has been shaped by someone else been Sir's scene. Should Sir be grateful that the position is now so highly sought after because it appears to be easy? Oh this is too much! Perhaps it is time to move on.