October 2, 1999.

Well, my home life has become a war zone again. The argument of last Thursday spilled neatly into Friday. I can't believe I actually stayed home for a late dinner, just to avoid hurting my mom's feelings...and was rewarded with screaming accusations of having "a chip on my shoulder." My mother's become a parody of herself. Any of my insights into her personality are interpreted as stemming from what she calls my "superiority complex." She doesn't accept any input on her own behavior unless it originates with some fatuous asshole on Oprah.

I was already more than a little uncomfortable with the realization last month that I don't really like my father. Now I have double the guilt. I don't like my parents. Period. It's not about some passing fit of pique, like it was growing up. They are mean to me when they know I can't be mean back. They scream at me for being difficult when I ask for a clarification on a question they expect to be answered 2 different ways (of course, whichever way I answer is reason for more screaming...they meant the other question, you insolent bitch!) Any trip from home that isn't work- or volunteer-related has to be discussed and ratified by the entire group, thus any escape from home is severely restricted. It absolutely kills me that I have to eat this shit for another 11 months.

Tonight some weirdo is putting on a Cure Fest, with Curetinis ("that taste 'just like heaven'!"). I want to go so badly. But I've already used up my trip allowance this weekend. I can't help but think that if I had a car or my own place, I wouldn't be grounded by irrational fiat. But there you go.

Other than the fact that I never want to go home again, the last few days have been...well, pretty bad. Yesterday I fell down in the shower. Really. I mean, talk about your archtypical bad starts to the day. I have a nice bruise slightly to the right of my tailbone...and I guess I should be glad that I didn't injure my coccyx, as there's nothing anyone can do for that.

Safely out of the shower, I got dressed in a rather edgy ensemble...for educational volunteering, that is. The thing is, I'm more confident when I'm wearing purple & black horizontally striped tights with 8-holes, a Bauhaus baby-t and a gauzy black dress. It makes me feel pretty & tough. I thought it was worth taking a chance on, at least. Fortunately, no one seemed to care. I think I get rather a lot of latitude at this stage of the game. As long as I don't wear PVC or tiny skirts, I think they'll turn a blind eye to other eccentricities.

And I especially needed to feel pretty & tough yesterday. It was my first day in a new classroom - a grade 8 special education classroom. These kids are being babysat by the state, basically. And I know that's a good thing, and I'm happy that I can help them with basic school skills. But at the same time, it's depressing for me. I've always strongly identified with intelligent people. I want to be an intelligent girl. I've always been in high-performance settings. So my knowledge of the learning disabled has always been highly theoretical.

And it's fucking depressing the shit out of me.

The standards have been dropped in recent years, so these are the kids who are really disabled. These kids are not ever going to be in a "normal" class, no matter how much they learn this year. That there are classes & dedicated professionals working with these kids at all is a tribute to our education system. And these kids will learn a great deal. Just at a different level. For instance, they're being drilled with addition problems rated for grade 3. Their spelling test included words like "shortcake," "blackjack," "shape," "polite," and "denim."

One girl didn't get any. Her answers didn't even look phonetically related to the test. I get the feeling that she's on the low end of the scale even for the class. No one talks to her. No one wants to be her partner. I know that feeling. Where I was arrogant & wordy, she's just quiet & resigned.

But when I'm there, when I'm in the class, I'm not thinking about these things much. The task at hand has to be worked through, even if it was designed for much younger "normal" children. When I'm interacting with them, I don't feel sorry for them, or depressed. It's only when I leave the situation that my pity glands fire up. So I guess that'll be my goal for this year: to be consistently empathetic without using pity as a distancing mechanism. Ever. Because they sure as hell doesn't need a smartypants English major wasting her time in unproductive depression when she could be doing something useful.

And finally, to put a cap on the day, I found out that my mailroom assignment is being reduced. I'm now working a 4-day week. Not that pleasing.

Last night was a good time, though. I mean, despite everything that proceeded it (or maybe because of it), the night went very well. I managed to miss both St. Stephen & Dirk, despite repeated phone calls. Sometimes it just happens that way. But the Boy was in a rare club-friendly mood, as he got a new job for next week (and it may involve his higher brain functions!) So the two of us gave up on everyone after a suitable time & betook ourselves to Tequila for a bite to eat. And this is where things get neat: we were just clearing the door when we met Hunter & Sasha on their way out. (Hunter is very friendly & interesting anthro doctoral candidate. He & Sasha used to live with the Boy, at the same time as Christina the Shameless).

They were clubhopping with a couple of friends, celebrating a rare trip from the north part of the city, and we easily fell into their dancing clutches. It was an awfully good time: we bounced from Queen West club to Queen West club, avoiding door charges & leaving as soon as the music started to suck. The Boy & I parted ways with them as they left the Garden for Skanktuary, as it was 2 a.m. and our perma-grins were slipping. We stopped for a slice of gourmet pizza and cabbed home, happily exhausted from the week.

I need more nights like that.

I'm at work now. I really wish I didn't have to go home for dinner tonight. At best, my mom will decide to have a "reasonable" discussion about the fighting. Basically, she'll just reprimand me and call it "respecting everyone's feelings." What a joke. The only feelings my parents respect are their own.

I'm thinking of hiding out in my room & pretending I never came home.