Hazel

 Growing up, I always thought my eyes were brown because other people said they looked brown. I felt like there wasn’t anything wrong with brown eyes, I wished they were more special but overall I didn’t have any complaints. My mom has brown eyes, my sister has brown eyes, my brother has brown eyes. 

But here’s the thing. 

I have hazel eyes. 

In the light, they look emerald green rimmed with honey, fading into chocolate at the pupil. They have freckles of brown and flecks of gold. 

I spent my whole life thinking my eyes were brown because people told me they looked brown. 

Why did it take so long for me to realize my own eye color??

Nowadays, even I fill out my drivers license info, I still have a moment of self doubt as I fill out the details: what if I got pulled over and the cop decided my eyes look more brown and I must have lied?

What if people hear me say that my eyes are hazel and assume I’m just trying to be edgy, extra, quirky, memorable?

My eyes have always been hazel, even when I thought they were brown. My eyes have always been hazel, even when people told me they looked brown brown so they must be. 

Anyways, my pronouns are she/they. I like to think of myself as a woman*. The asterisk is the important part because I didn’t have dysphoria growing up or even now, but the label “woman” alone isn’t entirely true on its own.

Just because my eyes have brown in them doesn’t mean they are brown. 

Just because I do feel like a she doesn’t mean I’m not also a they. 

Document That Shit!

 Okay, so, here's the thing: I have ALWAYS sucked at writing in a journal. I become so quickly overwhelmed at the concept of catching my journal up with the thousands of things that have happened to me since I last wrote. 

But in these times, it's so important to document: I refuse to allow history to be written about me by people who don't know me at all.

It is currently Monday, February 3rd, 2025. I am sitting in my living room, watching an illegal recording of Les Miserables on Youtube for the fiftieth time this week while I write this and wait for the washing machine to finish up so I can switch my clothes to the dryer. I am more burnt out than I can even express, because being a teacher in America (specifically in a red state) sucks ASS. The government doesn't give a flying fuck about me, about student success, or about the arts. Tonald Drump and Melon Eusk have just been sworn in as president (okay, maybe just the cheeto, but his buddy has been acting all kinds of "in charge" and it's BAFFLING that he is allowed to hold a position of power after throwing *azi salutes around.) Pardon my Tumblr-ization, I just don't want to get hunted down/thrown in prison for writing what I know on a public forum.

But yeah. Things REEEEALLY suck right now. To be fair, I entered this year already burnt out because I was the sole breadwinner for my family last year, as Nathan was laid off in January (fuck Chris Krohn and everything he stands for) and had a really hard time finding a job. That time really weighed on me because I think I have always known that I don't have the constitution to teach forever, because I care WAY too much to just half-ass it. But unfortunately, the only way to be a teacher and not go crazy at this point is to half-ass it.

This year alone, I had my wedding ring stolen by a student (don't worry, she didn't face any consequences because her dad brought it back), students joking about taking pictures of my feet to sell online, and the absolute nastiest email from a parent because I couldn't let his daughter miss all of tech week and be in the musical. All this, plus my ovaries and uterus constantly causing pain (Hopefully surgery in March will help-- it was a miracle to find a male doctor that also cried the day Roe V Wade went down).

I am expected to be a physical shield if/when a gunman comes into the classroom. I am expected to just laugh it off when a dad follows me to my second place of employment, and still make polite conversation with him. I am supposed to be completely unfazed when a student physically threatens, even squares up with me over my not letting her use her phone backstage after multiple reminders. I am expected to plan for 8 class periods every other day, write and carry out my entire curriculum alone, write objectives on the board, diversify my approach to engage diverse learners (but also legally expected to allow ICE to come take and deport my diverse learners and students just because Mr CheeseBall said so?), communicate consistently with parents and other students, make sure all emails get responses within 24 hours and all grades updated for my hundreds of students on a weekly basis, maintain and utilize sound and lighting equipment for assemblies and concerts, at this point I could keep going but now I am starting to sound like my resume. There is too much. My job demands too much of me and it is slowly, though gathering speed, chipping away at who I am.

I've been put on two new medications, and upped my dosage on the one I've been on since high school, just to manage my anxiety. How in the hell am I expected to deal with the pressures of teaching when teachers are vilified on a national level? How the fuck am I expected to help these kids feel hopeful and empowered when I feel so powerless?

I don't know if we are officially entering a war, I don't know if the stock market will crash tomorrow, I don't know if the Department of Education will still be around a few months from now, I don't know if I will be able to have my endometriosis surgery or be able to get a new IUD in March. All of these sound very tinfoil-hat-esque but the thing is, all of these and so many more have been on the table in the past 3 weeks since inauguration day. I feel like I'm writing a damn teen dystopian novel.

I miss the times when I was just the reader, curled up on my couch, feeling safe because I knew for a fact that the leaders of my nation would never pit us against each other, knew for a fact I wouldn't have to live through a world war.

I miss being a teen dystopian novel reader.