Sunday Sunday
In the mess of teaching and living and death and homelessness, I love Baltimore. I feel incredible peace and kinship with the new people I've met here. It's a strange feeling to not terribly miss home, Minnesota. Very strange. I booked a flight home in December. Same night dreamt about the euphoria of smells and colors and comforted feelings that accompany home and growing up and memories of a time without stress and the real world.
Now my real world is different. Sometimes I feel fleeting moments of merging experiences that have equaled comfort. Like driving and a song comes on that I used to rock out to driving to the library after school, because I was bored and wanted to learn more. And snow. The clean and crisp air of snow and cold.
The Midwestern edge of niceness is probably never going to wear off. I thought I was this kick ass bitchy don't get in my way kind of person, and I realize that was just a facade. That actually, when Steve, homeless man who washes cars, becomes too aggressive and washes my car without permission and still expects to get paid, I feel guilty that I have no cash instead of mad that he washed without permission. When my students are assholes, because everyone has a day here and there, my response is motherly and analytical. They don't get that. But I've ignored all the advice not to smile the first month and let myself be who I am with my students. They know me, in many ways - all appropriate of course - and I'm slowly starting to get to know more and more of them, as they allow.
Now I sit in a snotty little coffeeshop that is so different from the one in Bemidji where I could look at the lake and drink my usual. My legs don't go numb from being here for hours, because they don't have extra tall chairs and tables that make my legs dangle. The service is city-esque and snappy. It's okay though. I play up the guilt trip, and people back off.
Minnesota nice is actually Minnesota passive aggressive.
Now my real world is different. Sometimes I feel fleeting moments of merging experiences that have equaled comfort. Like driving and a song comes on that I used to rock out to driving to the library after school, because I was bored and wanted to learn more. And snow. The clean and crisp air of snow and cold.
The Midwestern edge of niceness is probably never going to wear off. I thought I was this kick ass bitchy don't get in my way kind of person, and I realize that was just a facade. That actually, when Steve, homeless man who washes cars, becomes too aggressive and washes my car without permission and still expects to get paid, I feel guilty that I have no cash instead of mad that he washed without permission. When my students are assholes, because everyone has a day here and there, my response is motherly and analytical. They don't get that. But I've ignored all the advice not to smile the first month and let myself be who I am with my students. They know me, in many ways - all appropriate of course - and I'm slowly starting to get to know more and more of them, as they allow.
Now I sit in a snotty little coffeeshop that is so different from the one in Bemidji where I could look at the lake and drink my usual. My legs don't go numb from being here for hours, because they don't have extra tall chairs and tables that make my legs dangle. The service is city-esque and snappy. It's okay though. I play up the guilt trip, and people back off.
Minnesota nice is actually Minnesota passive aggressive.
