True Story: Books Ruined My Life

This is the true story of how books ruined my life.

You think I’m joking. Well, I’m not. Books are life-ruiners and it’s about time someone stood up to them. (Or ranted about them a little, whatever.)

I started reading at an early age: letters and sight words and little books. I’m kind of smart that way. Of course, I’m really dumb in other ways, so the reading thing makes up for it, yeah?

My earliest obsession with books started simple enough: Baby-Sitter’s Club Little Sister series and Sweet Valley Twins. Eventually I graduated into the older versions of these series and continued the obsession. Seriously, though. Who didn’t want to be a Wakefield twin growing up? I always favored Elizabeth (Jessica was a flake). And I totally wanted to start my own babysitting club, too. For the record, Mary Anne was my favorite babysitter. She was quiet and nerdy and hey, so was I.  

Don't they just scream "cool"?  

My problem with books started early, obviously. When I was growing up the closest Walmart was an hour or so. I would beg my mom to buy me a book. Not a toy or a new Barbie, a book! So, she’d buy me the book. Then I’d make my parents leave the light in the car on so I could read the book on our way home. I didn’t care if they “couldn’t see” while driving, I needed to read.

I was usually finished with the book by the time we got home. We had that place called a “library”, but renting books really wasn’t my thing. Truth is, it still isn’t. I like to buy and keep. If it’s something I don’t like I usually donate it or take my chances with the used bookstore and earn some credit to buy, you guessed it, more books.

#1 way books ruin my life? They cost money.

#2 way? I don’t have enough money to buy all the books I want.

But I digress. This really isn’t about money or not having enough books. It’s about loving, or loathing, the ones you have.

This weekend I spent a lot of time facedown in the couch because of all my feelings.

#3 way books ruin my life? ALL THE FEELINGS. (Or FEELS.)

Look, if you’re reading this and think I’m weird, that’s okay. Books make me weird. Books make me weird because books make me think and thinking…man, thinking does stuff. The feelings are intense, though. I’ve read so many books in the past few years that sometimes it’s hard to explain what one is about or just exactly why I loved/hated something. There are always that few that stick with you forever, though.

Those are the life-ruiners. I can tell you at exactly which point I lost it Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Only JK Rowling can make you cry with the use of the word “laugh”. Or rather, “last laugh”. (RIP, Fred.) I know the one phrase in The Fault in Our Stars that still gets me teary even though I have yet to bring myself to reread that beautiful piece of words.  

Good books, books that tell about life and relationships and make you a part of that world without even trying…those are the best kind. The ones above are just a couple of the ones that have cut my heart out in the recent past. Also, anything else by John Green can be including. To me he's the #1 Life-Ruiner Ever. I read a lot, okay. Sometimes Kindle .99 cent deals, sometimes the classics. To me, if you think it's good, it's good. If you love the characters and you love the story, that's all there is to it. 

Yep.

Of course, then there’s books like Gone Girl that make you hate every single character and you wouldn’t even care if the earth opened up and they all died. (Secret: Sometimes I feel like this about the Twilight series even though I once loved it so much. Okay, except for Leah. She’s cool.)

But yeah, man. Books. Books are my weakness. When people can put words together to make you fall in love or hate or hope or cry…it’s like magic, you know? It’s magic that people have the guts and the capability to just create people, places, and things and make you love them. That’s how I feel about books. I love them. Okay, I loathe them sometimes, too. Especially when I end up with a tear-stained couch and three days of my life I”ll never get back. 

Also things that are life-ruiners: book to movie adaptions. DON'T EVEN GET ME STARTED. 

I Deserve My Summer Vacation

I was pretty mad yesterday. Like, angry mad, not crazy mad. Not a lot of things actually make me angry, you know. I can see some of you rolling your eyes, but it’s true. I just look like I’m angry. I can’t help it, it’s just my resting face.

Jeremy Renner has an A+ resting face. Also, he's adorable.

But anyways, here’s what happened:

A comment was made on a friend's Facebook status about having to work the day after Halloween and it went like this: “You get summers off and all that vacation time!”

Pardon me while I slap you via the internet.

First off, the complaint was not that she had to work, but that she had to work the day after Halloween.

Okay, do you have kids? Were they up late? Did you feed them candy for breakfast and then ship them off to school? (If that was you, I will find you.) But really, kids are crazy enough as it is…kids the day after Halloween? Goodbye everything you had planned.

So, here’s what makes me mad: YOU GET SUMMERS OFF AND ALL THAT VACATION TIME.

I get that a lot of people work 365, 24/7, blahblahblah, okay? I’m not knocking anyone else’s profession here, so don’t look at me that way. What really gets my goat is that people think that teachers just play around for ten months, get two off plus weekends and holidays and our lives are sunshine, rainbows, and unicorns.

In reality, I’m pretty sure there are more tears and wine than sunshine and rainbows, if you catch my drift.

Teaching is hard. Again, not knocking anyone else’s career choice. I admire almost every other job and know that people have it rough, okay? I need to get that out there so you all don't think I'm a jerk. I just don’t think that a lot of people actually know how hard teaching is.

Sure, I make lesson plans and get to do fun stuff and get a lot of hugs, but do you think it ends there?

I win "Last Teacher Standing" this week, okay? I mean, IT'S DARK.

There are meetings, meltdowns, grading, meetings, colleagues, parents, grading, and oh, did I mention meetings? Phone calls, paperwork, assemblies, clubs, tutoring, reteaching, reassessing, reevaluating, rebooting (coffee break!) and all within the twenty minutes you call your lunch break.

Then! Then I take stuff home. I mean, mostly my cat just lays on things when I take it home, but sometimes it gets graded, okay?

This is what my weekend looks like. Clearly I'm on top of things.

Honestly, though…the stuff I (re: teachers) take home is more mental than physical. It’s emotional. It’s the kids you can’t reach or the ones who don’t care. The kids who have a horrible home life and you’re the only bit of hope they have. The ones who eat their only meal at school and wear dirty clothes.

Teaching is hard. It’s not all fun and games. There are those things, but mostly it’s just about trying to succeed in world where people criticize you, question everything you do, and don’t think about what’s important: kids. They are what matter and if I put my heart and soul into them for ten months out of the year, I, and every other teacher, deserve a break every now and then.

So, yeah. I get summers off. I’m sorry you don’t.

But I’m not sorry, so there.

It’s not my fault you didn’t choose a career where you get summer vacations, now is it?