Category: Writing

Teaching, Writing

Struggles of a Teacher: Managing Disappointment and Disrespect

Alexandra Diane

How are you feeling right now?

I’m not.

Not good.

I’m disappointed.

I feel empty and betrayed. 

I came into this school year excited. I spent most of my summer planning out interesting ways to teach genres and trailer concepts to my students. I started with horror and built it from the start of the genre.But it seemed that, since I wasn’t dancing for TikTok or breaking up my lecture into two minute dopamine hits, a small amount tuned me out. Usually that is fine, but these students are loudest with their opinions. They are the ones who cause the most chaos. 

It sucks to have to fight with teenagers just to get them to stop talking. Hearing groan after groan makes my skin crawl. A few of these students switched into my class because they didn’t want to be in the other class. I don’t know what they expected from me. But it wasn’t to sit and listen to them bitch and moan. We are at school. You have to learn. Instead of watching trailers to watch the evolution of the genre and have all the pieces broken down, they could just read a textbook. I promise that would suck.

I started the week explaining how I stopped watching horror when I began working in news. There isn’t anything a filmmaker could create that is worse than what humans actually do. So on Thursday, the day after a monster shot up a Catholic school while children prayed at mass, I broke. 

I didn’t want to talk about death and destruction. 

I wanted to be distracted by what my students were planning to create. So as the juniors went off to their class meeting about rings, I spoke with my seniors about what the next two months looked like. Those who had me before were amazing. Scripts were already being planned out and teams built. But again there were a few who thought my class was a fuck around class. 

I hate it.

I will not be up the kids’ asses.

It doesn’t work for my class. 

My upperclassmen usually know that when I am giving them freedom, they are working one way or another. But some believe they must use their phones, shouting out things. I didn’t have the energy to fight yesterday. I just let those continue to make the same mistake over and over again. I hoped that I wasn’t going to have to collect phones from the almost adults, but it looks like I’ll be treating the majority like freshmen because the loud few can’t respect rules. 

I thought that was going to be the worst. Until a handful of my trusted kids broke my trust. I am not spelling out ‌what they did because it will be blatant who I am talking about. I have enough students who read my blogs and stalk my Instagram that they will know who I am talking about. But when people go back on their word and I find out, they are burned. There is not enough time in the school year for them to earn it back. They will graduate soon, and the years of trust that had been built has shattered. 

It sucks because I am here to listen to my students’ trauma dump all over me when they have problems. I help them with their classwork, look for jobs, scholarships, and things that are more than just teaching TV Production. If they had that elsewhere, they wouldn’t be asking me. I am not jaded in my belief that everyone has a stable home life or that they have an adult to seek guidance from. But because of that, I think they have forgotten I am the adult. I am not their peer. The disrespect has festered, and I am over it. 

So that is how I am feeling right now. 

I need a three day weekend to decompress without looking at a single email from parents accusing me of trying to fail their student because their child did not turn in work. 

Teaching, Writing

Confronting AI in Education: Teachers vs. Technology’s Role

Alexandra Diane

Today was probably the most conflicting day I’ve had in a while. We finally had a PD set up for all the TV production teachers in the district to work together. We shared every level of equipment and what software people can use, and as a group we were successful. Teachers were asking questions, guiding others in how to use software in different ways. We didn’t just sit through the same training that most of us have experienced for years.

However, when we walked into the district mandated Khanmigo training, it took that feeling away. How are we supposed to feel as humans and as educators being forced and told time and time again to use artificial intelligence in place of our teaching? The replacement is a reading between the lines because the trainer said that Khanmigo was to be treated as an assistant and as our partner. Unfortunately, the entire presentation showed how human teachers could become null and void. 

Palm Beach County spent billions of dollars developing this artificial intelligence teacher assistant. Students are mandated to have at least 10 interactions with the artificial intelligence system a week or a month; I can’t really remember. But these interactions are supposed to hold a conversation with the robot. One teacher suggested we just have them log in and say hi to the AI. I shut down that idea quickly. I don’t have time to say, okay guys, don’t pay attention to me; ask the robot whatever you want. The amount of stuff my students have been flagged asking Khanmigo is absurd. Most usually ask about why some people in history killed themselves. Or how they can do horrible things to the robot. I would love to say here, ask the robot this question, but then the students will continue talking to the AI and ignore that class is starting. 

My real problem is that they don’t encourage us to have one-on-one conversations with our students. The county already is shoving down our throats this trusted adult system, but why are we not actually working on developing a strong bond with our students? Students are being encouraged ‌to ask questions and develop a relationship with the robot. It seems counterproductive. Maybe instead of our classrooms being heavily focused on tests, and earning money for the schools, we actually teach what we are trying to have the robots teach.

The session started with an example of a poorly written “Khanstruct-a-Prompt” about scriptwriting. It was truly degrading to read. But it was supposed to encourage teachers to develop one that would work better to engage with our students. And the next example did just that. The AI chooses a scene, does a scene breakdown, gives examples of how to write a script, elements needed in a script, and helps the students write their own scene. But all of this is passive. The student isn’t being engaged with. They aren’t checking in on what the student understands. 

At this point, I don’t have a job. That is what I teach my students at the beginning of their film class. I spent hours finding sources and examples for my students. Going over every way to write unique elements of a script. But it seems like it was all pointless if I tell the students, enter this prompt and talk to the robot. Mind you, I have done it with the robot; it gets stuck. It doesn’t understand the nuances of dialogue, and after a while, it keeps pushing out the same nonsense over and over again. 

After a few more examples, we filled out a paper and chose the role of AI. We filled in the instructions and standards the AI is to use, how it is to support the students, and the expectations of the students. But aren’t all of those elements what teachers are supposed to do? 

I am confused. I thought I was supposed to teach, not robots. Or is the district trying to figure out how to get rid of teachers outside of being glorified babysitters?

Now, this whole concept isn’t totally evil. Especially for teachers who don’t care about their job. I have heard plenty of students say they have teachers who don’t actually teach. I’ve had to help them learn how to research and write papers. If they have math questions, I just tell them I will pray for them and to go ask their teacher. They end up rolling their eyes and just googling the answer and never learning how to solve the problem.

But what about the teachers who actually teach? 

Are we supposed to stare at the back of the kids’ heads because we have prompted the AI to act like a teacher? That was a suggestion repeated multiple times in the session today. That we should prompt the AI to act like a teacher. The presenter kept referring to the Khanmigo as our assistant and encouraged us to talk with the AI to collaborate with it. 

I find it amusing that it’s named Khanmigo, aside from being a production of Khan Academy. The name Khan only brings two people to mind; Genghis Khan and Khan from Star Trek. Both are villains. I’m just trying to figure out what kind of villain this software is. Is it ruthless invaders or is it somebody with vengeance trying to destroy an entire race because they were wronged? 

Either way, I can see the forced implementation of AI in this way could destroy some teachers. Outsiders wonder why teachers are leaving the profession in droves. Once upon a time, the answer was rude kids or nasty parents. But now, more than not people don’t want to fight with the new mandatory “resource” that is to help “supplement” our lessons. 

Writing

Family Adventure in Cooperstown: Baseball, Vlogging, and Fun

Alexandra Diane

This summer, my family headed to Cooperstown in upstate New York. For weeks, we watched the weather. It was a tease, promising cool temperatures compared to the sweltering heat in Florida. It also promised rain. So much rain. But I came prepare for both. All the moms had more than a handful of baseball shirts made, and those would fit perfectly under a hoodie or light jacket. And because of the rain, I finally committed to buying Sperry duck shoes.

To get to New York, we flew. This was Bennett’s first time on a plane. To say he was excited was an understatement. He ran from window to window in the terminal, yelling at the planes. He also just ran everywhere because my two-year-old is feral and keeping him still is impossible. In truth, I let him run everywhere because I wanted him to get his energy out. Even though it was a late flight, we knew he wouldn’t sleep.

My husband and I packed the essentials to keep the kids entertained. Snacks on snacks on snacks, so we wouldn’t go broke before the plane taxied out. Coloring, laptops, and tablets, everything a kid could dream of. My kids… they were happy with the window before we boarded the plane. Well, not the middle schooler. He was glued to his phone and talking to his teammates. That’s until he became in charge of hunting down his little brother when he would escape.

The flight was easy and smooth. The worst part was trying to keep Bennett’s seatbelt on. He does not like being “trapped” as he calls it. The most anyone heard of him on the plane was when the PA would start and his movie would pause. His verbal frustration would earn laughs from all around him. The grownups didn’t like their movies being interrupted either.

The whole time I filmed little bits and pieces. I wanted to capture more moments than just on my phone. I’ve never done a vacation vlog before and figure this would be the best moment to do so. I borrowed the Osmo pocket 3 from school and let loose. There was something powerful about capturing these memories with a camera not attached to a phone. There were no distractions or urges to instantly post what I recorded. I simply turned on the camera record and went back to enjoying what was going on.

The whole Cooperstown 12U torment was something else. Every single day baseball, baseball, and more baseball. But the most fun was Opening Day. This was the day when the boys ran around and got to be 12-year-olds. No pressure, expect, finding that perfect trading pin. Some parents had a hard time letting the boys go crazy on their own. But this place was better than Disneyland for the boys.

I gave Mark the camera, and he went crazy filming all sorts of things. Experiencing the 12-year-old’s perspective was awesome. At first you can hear in his voice how uncomfortable he was with asking questions to strangers. But as the morning went on, he was popping off questions left and right. At some point, one of his teammates took the camera and asked his own question. Sometimes the questions would get lost and Mark would take the camera back and start the mini interview over.

What was cool was seeing the boys wait for the opening ceremony to start. The parents were having their own problems, dealing with rain, finding each other and organizing twelve pairs of adults. With how busy we were, I don’t think most of the parents thought about how bored the boys were down in the mass of kids, just waiting for their chance to run.

Mark captured what they did. I only had to edit out a few things. Because let’s be real, when you give a 12-year-old a camera, you’re going to hear a few things that never need repeated.

The vlog ends with Mark following his baby brother around in the chaos of waiting for the home run derby.

I couldn’t have been more proud of how my kid took himself out of his comfort zone and tried something different. We may have been there for baseball. But all the boys got a small taste of learning how to function without their parents hovering over them.

Writing

Finding Peace: A Journey Through Personal Faith Exploration

Alexandra Diane

Do you practice religion?

The question, Do you practice religion? feels vague and like a loaded gun all at once. Practice feels up to interpretation.Yes, I practice a religion. But the how feels so heavy-handed. I grew up in a Presbyterian / Catholic household. Now my father, the Catholic, was non-practicing. While my mother, the Presbyterian, is the one who took my brother and I to church. We would go to Sunday school, say prayers at dinner and bedtime, and celebrate a few holidays. But I never truly considered it practicing a religion.  

I never understood the inner workings of the faith I was being raised in. I’m not sure my mom did either. When we would go to church, we would listen to the pastor’s message and take it at what it was. I know my mom’s bible had notes in it and if I would look at it now, there would be scribbles from when I was a bored child. In my Sunday school classes, I would listen to the favorites of the bible like David and Goliath or the Garden of Eden. But once I walked outside those doors, I never gave it much thought. I knew God was with me and I didn’t care what was the origins of the faith I was following. 

As I reached middle school, I developed a fascination with the Tudor family. Now you may wonder what the Tudors, a royal English family, have to do with religion. Well, it deals with it a lot. Until King Henry VIII sought a divorce, the English were Catholic. It wasn’t until the Pope refused his divorce did he become interested in the reformation of the church. I had never heard of the reformation before. I knew there were different branches of Christianity, but I never knew why. I chalked it up to different flavors, kind of like ice cream. You picked what you liked best. But after reading how King Henry broke away and created the Church of England. This made the wheels in my head spin. How was the Presbyterian Church created?

I ate up book after book learning about the faith. 

In high school, I would go to church with my mom still, but it felt empty. My faith felt empty and lukewarm, as if I had sat in bathwater for far too long. A lot of my friends were making their confirmation. But there was a part of me that couldn’t do it. I was trying to unweave how the Presbyterian Church was related to the Church of Scotland, but how the American Presbyterian churches followed along the path of Calvinism. It overwhelmed me. I couldn’t confirm my faith to one that I didn’t fully understand. 

College was where I had the chance to truly pick apart different faiths. I stuck with the Abrahamic religions. Those were the ones that made the most sense. But the more I picked them apart, the more I fell in love with how the Catholics worshiped. The traditions that were rooted so deeply that if I went to a different state, I would receive the same message. Yes, the homilies varied; they differ at every Mass, but the readings remained the same. 

It wasn’t until my mid twenties did I feel comfortable enough with my decision. I began the reformation class, which I needed to convert. I felt grounded in the rich history and speaking with the priest. I also appreciated that he didn’t shun or shame anyone for the faiths they grew up in. When I was younger, I remember at the two different churches how the youth pastors would dog on the other christian faiths. It didn’t sit well with me. We were supposed to love one another, not rip each other apart. What stuck with me the most was my priest expressing how jealous he was that the Protestant prayed. As if they had an open connection with God. He said that he wished more people in our congregation felt that they were open about prayer and their conversation with God. It made me feel comfortable with the idea that my prayers had still been heard even though I was of a different faith. 

I would go most Sundays. Not as a show of someone who was and wanting my face to be seen, but for my soul. I felt a great deal of comfort in the rituals. I never had that at the other churches that I went to. They always seemed to be something the pastor did on the fly. I know they had their sermons set up, but it just felt off. 

But even with all this, I never considered myself practicing. I had a rosary that I would hold and do occasionally. I didn’t read the bible anymore than I did before. And I just took the warmth in my heart and leave each Sunday and go about my life. 

It took a while for me to figure out how to add my faith to my life outside of nighttime prayers. I wanted things to feel natural and not forced, so I went back to what drove me to the feeling of comfort. Studying my religion. Oddly, social media, which I gave up for Lent, offers many helpful tools. I found the Hallow App that has guided prayers and the rosary, which I use more than I thought I would. The daily homilies are quick and easy to listen to in the car. For mass I started to use a journal from Every Scared Sunday. This allows me to reflect on the messages and I feel less guilty when I miss a Sunday service because I am still reading the Mass readings. My cousin discovered Blessed is She and purchased their advent journal for my daughter and I. It was nice to break down the days leading up to Christmas and see it as more than just a reason to buy gifts. These silly little elements have made me engage more with my faith. I am no longer a passive member, just sitting in a pew each Sunday morning. By journaling, I can apply the readings to my life.

Being active in my faith is what was missing from my youth. I know others may have had similar tools, but they didn’t resonate with my soul. I didn’t fully understand what my faith was and made that was the problem but I am glad it sent me on my journey. I love the peace I have found. 

Writing

Redefining ‘Having It All’: Finding True Happiness

Alexandra Diane

What does “having it all” mean to you? Is it attainable?

What does “having it all” mean to you? Is it attainable?

What does “having it all” mean to me? That’s a loaded question, especially since its meaning has changed over the years.

A suffocating narrative shaped the millennial generation. The lie that “having it all” meant the “Boss Babe” persona. Earning a high level degree and working the corporate ladder until you reached the top. 

To me that sounded, and still does, exhausting. To think I could get through life all by myself without the help of a partner. No, thank you. 

Even if millennial women found a partner, they weren’t meant to be a helpmate. In fact, we were led to believe their presence would be more of a burden than a help. Somehow we were persuaded to believe women that a full-time job, combined with being a present wife and mother, was the only path. 

And they weren’t wrong. That is having it all. 

But what they forgot to mention is the burnout that comes with juggling all of those titles. 

I never bought into the idea that was being sold to millennial women.

In high school, I cared about my grades, but I didn’t exhaust myself worrying about straight As. I knew what my strengths were and in some subjects; it wasn’t a possibility. So instead of pushing myself to the breaking point, I did my best and knew that was all that mattered. I put my energy into what brought me happiness. And it worked out for me. I could refine what eventually became a career. I put money in my pocket working in theater and broadcast. I never would have learned those skills if I were hyper focused on making sure every single academic class was perfect. 

So on paper, I didn’t have it all in high school. But none of that matters. Having an A in geometry or chemistry wouldn’t have helped me find a job. But the hours spent backstage being a stage manager did. 

College was much the same. I took classes that fueled my passion. Film theory classes gave me a better understanding of how and why film makers do what they do. I did all I could to keep my grades up, so I would maintain my scholarships. But instead of living my life in the library or on campus, I traveled. 

I spent a summer in California. I learned I could never live there. It just wasn’t my speed. But that summer I learned more about myself than I expected. While I took a deep dive into my soul, classmates were taking extra classes so they could graduate in 3 years. I started my second year feeling refreshed, unlike my friends, who looked as if their brain had been in a blender for two months. 

I watched classmate after classmate change their degree. They didn’t want to put the work into succeeding in our career. I don’t blame them. Broadcast, film, and news is truly a lackluster career. The hours you have to put in to make it in our industry are endless. Those who left wanted instant glory. Not something someone really could have achieved in 2009. There’s more of a possibility now with social media. But even so, we’re starving artists for a reason. 

After graduation, so many people left south Florida. 

“You can’t make it here,” they would tell me. 

But what were they making? A paycheck? Sure, Florida doesn’t always pay the best, but what else brought them joy? When I was younger, I had money. I could go where I wanted and do whatever I wanted. But I was missing something. I wanted someone there next to me to enjoy those moments. 

I gave up job opportunities out of state that would have taken my life in a multitude of directions, but to me, a job would not make my soul happy. I learned early in life I was looking for someone to share my journey with me. Watching so many people uproot their lives chasing a buck and returning years later with the same cloud of longing I know made the right choices. 

Having it all isn’t about where you work. It’s about being happy with yourself. It doesn’t matter where you move or who you are with. If you are restless and chasing a feeling, you have to look within. The letters of CEO, MD, PHD might look successful. For some, that might be what brings you happiness. But I see a lot of friends and acquaintances whose lives look great on paper but good lord. I think they spend so much trying to find someone to share these successes with that they are empty. 

What was the point of chasing a dollar if that dollar can’t bring you what you really wanted? 

I say this all as a broke ass teacher with a kid in travel baseball. If you know, you know what I mean by that. My husband and I give up nearly every weekend with our oldest chasing his dream. At this point, we had our chances. We lived what we wanted to. My husband has a lifetime of experiences that can never be replicated. I traveled to different states and countries, absorbing what I could of the world. We’ll get our chance to do what we want once our oldest heads out on his journey. 

But whenever I wonder if I should have taken the jobs in Arlington, Bristol, or Chicago, I get notes from students. They tell me how I am the reason they are staying in school or alive. I look at my own children and see how happy they are that I am at every game or event. Something that I wouldn’t have been able to do working at a bigger network. 

So do I have it all?

I have a husband who spends every weekend with me. My kids are happy and healthy. Do I have as much money as I once did? No, I am a travel ball mom. But I wouldn’t change it for a job or a false ideal once sold to us when we were kids.

Chase your own dream and who cares what people say. Success is what brings you joy, nothing more and nothing less. 

Lent, Writing

Teaching is a work of heart: How One Teacher Transformed My Professional Journey.

Alexandra Diane

Who was your most influential teacher? Why?

This is the easiest answer. For the last twenty years, Earle Wright has quietly shaped the broadcast and production professional world. Our TV club’s Google Classroom claims we’re here for world domination, and with so many Wright grads in the workforce, it seems as if he’s succeeded in that mission.

Instead of writing something new, I’ll just share the letter of recommendation I wrote for my mentor and now colleague, Earle Wright.

I have had the privilege of knowing Earle since my time as a student at Dwyer High School from 2001 to 2005, where he first served as my TV production teacher. Throughout my career, Earle has been an invaluable mentor, shaping not only my career path into broadcasting but also inspiring my journey into teaching.

Earle has dedicated his career to shaping the future of broadcast journalism. Since joining Seminole Ridge High School in 2005, he has transformed the TV Production Academy into one of the most respected programs in the state. His commitment to excellence is unparalleled, and he holds all his students to a professional standard that often exceeds what I’ve encountered in my decade of professional experience. It’s not uncommon for his students’ work to rival that of college graduates, setting them apart in the competitive field of broadcast journalism.

I’ve seen firsthand the impact Wright’s teaching has had on countless students. When I worked at CBS 12, I knew that if a resume came across the News Director’s desk with “Seminole Ridge High School” on it, it would be moved to the top of the pile. The caliber of students coming from his program is unmatched, and it’s a reputation that has spread far beyond South Florida. Seminole Ridge alumni can be found in newsrooms and production studios across the country.

Wright’s influence extends far beyond his classroom. Even twenty years later, he continues to be my mentor, and I lean on his expertise and guidance to this day. Our partnership in mentoring future journalists and filmmakers has been mutually beneficial, helping me grow as a professional and educator. But his impact doesn’t stop there. Earle is the go-to person in the district for advice and support, always making himself available to help ensure that all schools in Palm Beach County have the resources they need to thrive. Whether it’s answering emails, phone calls, or texts, Wright’s dedication to helping educators and students in every corner of the district is unwavering.

While the FSPA State Teacher of the Year Award is dedicated to recognizing excellence in journalism education for one year, it is impossible to ignore the lasting impact Earle Wright has had on his students, colleagues, and the field of journalism as a whole. His contributions and mentorship go beyond a single year of recognition, and I firmly believe he deserves this honor for the profound, lasting difference he has made over the past two decades.

Lent, Writing

Inkful Wishes

Alexandra Diane

What tattoo do you want and where would you put it?

What tattoo do you want and where would you put it?

I already have four tattoos. A quill and ink on my right rib, a Celtic Cross on my left, and two blue swallows, the one on the left is holding a Tudor Rose and the other holds a royal sceptre. All are in color except for my largest, the quill and ink, those were done with black and gray tattoo. I have an entire Pinterest board decided to new designs I would like to cover my arms in. However, that’s where they have stayed for the last decade. 

When I received my quill and ink in 2014, I didn’t know I would have such a lull between designs. I thought after I settled in Brazil I would find a new artist. But I didn’t have time to put in the research before I returned to Florida. After returning, I had to get my life in order. Which meant being a responsible adult and allocating my money elsewhere. Being responsible sucks because it’s been a decade and my Pinterest board keeps growing and my skin is still ink free. 

If it wasn’t for responsibilities, I would ink on about three unique pieces.  One dedicated to my children, one for my passion for the ocean and swimming, and the third for a special reason. 

The one for my children I am still working on. I know there would be a cute cartoon field mouse, with a bow on its ear, holding a flower, with a little bee buzzing nearby. The little mouse/flower for Adelyn and a bee for Bb. Now my problem is working in Mark. His favorite animal is a penguin. But I’m not sure how to work a penguin into a design with a field mouse and a bumblebee. I could have the field mouse standing in front of a baseball, make the entire scene a little spring moment, but I just don’t know yet. I want to be certain before inking something permanently to my body.

The second design, one that I have wanted for years and have lived on my Pinterest board since the beginning, is an inside forearm piece. The design is very different from the four I already have. It is predominantly a line work or fine lined mermaid tail. Above the tail would be the tip of the wave that would swirl around the tail and end in an anchor. The ocean has played such a pivotal role in my life. From swimming to surfing, I have felt more at home in the water. Now my daughter has the same passion. The mermaid would be for both of us. 

My last design would be a black and gray realism style of a compass surrounded by a rope that is knotted into a heart. The compass holds a special meaning for my husband and me. We have always said our lights have guided us out of the darkness. I have thought about a lighthouse but I don’t have space to dedicate to what I would like to have. A compass and heart would grace the cap of one of my shoulders. I think it would go on the right side since my mermaid tail would be on the left. 

But responsibilities exist and until I feel more comfortable with everything all my designs will live in my heart. Which is fine by me because summer is right around the corner. Getting ink in Florida during the summer is like being grounded. You can’t go swimming, you are not supposed to have fresh ink in the sun, and you don’t want to scratch the peeling design. All of which are highlighted in the summer. Kids will want to go to the ocean and the pool. Wearing anything besides short-sleeved shirts is asking for heat stroke and all that humidity will make you sweat and itch. 

So I shall wait for winter to revisit my inkful wishes. 

Writing

Balancing Life as a Busy Mom and Aspiring Writer

Alexandra Diane

Something on your “to-do list” that never gets done.

My to-do list is a mile long. Juggling being a mom of three, a teacher, a wife, and myself, there is not enough time to complete everything on my list. Something has to give and usually it’s my favorite thing, writing.

Blog writing is easy. It’s reflecting on my day and emotions. But creative writing, that is the one that is placed on the back burner. My dream was always to live off my writing. Maybe one day when I’m no longer supporting my little gremlins, it can happen.

I have followed a lot of indie authors on social. Quite a few have been blessed to leave their nine-to-five jobs and pursue writing full time. Most of them have older children or none at all. I am not jealous of them. In fact, it pushes me harder. To know that it’s possible and not to give up.

Most days, I love my job. High school is a weird, strange place. A friend asked me to explain, and I said it was like a Choose Your Own Adventure reality TV show. Students come to me with the craziest things and wait for my response. Usually I give them advice and wait to see what they will do with it. Some take my advice and life is easy. The ones that don’t come back crying or wondering WTF?!? Why I’m so unhappy?

During my planning periods, I leave my decade old manuscript open waiting for inspiration. Most of the time, I just stare at it, my is mind blank, almost taunting me. Eventually it gets burnt out reading and editing students’ scripts. By the end of the day, I’m fired trying to help students come up with unique creative ideas. I could leave it be, but I have to watch all their projects. I learned after my first year of teaching, if I didn’t help them brainstorm ideas, I’ll watch twenty different anti bullying PSAs.

For months I’ve fought my depression, nothing could get through the fog. But just before the new year, it lifted. I’m not pulled me through it but I started writing again. Be it ideas coming to me in my sleep, walking me. Surprisingly, the notes I have left have made sense. Which is fantastic when I read them awake.

So, between doctor appointments and baseball games, I try to work my way through notes left for me. One day I’ll get through my to-do list, but there’s no rush.

Writing

Post three years in the making: Car Accident.

Alexandra Diane

I have been wanting to write this for a while, but now that I have a chance to put all my feelings into words, nothing feels right. At the beginning of December, my lawsuit was finally complete. For three years, they have prevented me from writing about the car accident that changed my life. Though if you were to ask the opposing counsel, the witch of a woman, would have you trying to believe nothing happened to me. The car accident did far more than ruin my back. The mental toll had lasting effects that affected not only myself but my family.

So if I am going to start, I will start from the beginning. 

It was late July, the week before teachers were supposed to return to school. The kids and my husband were going to have pizza for dinner that night and I didn’t want to miss out. However, the only place that sold the gluten-free frozen pizza I wanted was Target on Northlake. Usually, this wasn’t a big deal. Going to Target was and still is my favorite mental escape. Only it had been pouring that day and I did not want to take the highway, so I took military instead. Everything was great. Traffic was following at a decent speed and life was good until it wasn’t.

There is always traffic near PGA Blvd and I took that into account. I wasn’t speeding, and I wasn’t tailgating. As I passed under the I95 overpass and saw the brake lights and knew PGA was backed up. I reached Garden Lakes DR and the dark SUV in front of me suddenly put on their brakes, causing me to brake as well. I had enough time from when I stopped in the rain to think thank god I didn’t hit them. But that’s where my luck ran out. I heard tires, and I clenched as a white van slammed into the back of my F150. 

Thankfully, the airbag wasn’t released. I have had that happen before and that is just awful. The burn of the airbag hitting your skin burns and the chalk makes it hard to breathe. 

In this accident, my seat belt locked and pulled me tight to my chair. My cell phone launched from the cupholder and onto the ground. Because my phone was Bluetooth-connected, I dialed 911 without handling my phone. I moved my truck one lane over to the turn lane, so I wasn’t blocking traffic anymore and waited for the police. When the police showed up they had me and the van move to the parking lot nearby. 

I gave the police all my information, then took pictures of my truck and the van. I am so glad I did because the only pictures shown during my legal case were the ones I took. Hell the witch didn’t even show the van during our mediation meeting, trying to show how “little damage” my truck received. When they asked me if I needed to go to the ER I shook them off. Looking back now I wish I would have just gone because I wouldn’t have had to listen to the nasty witch accuse me of not being in pain. Apparently she’s never heard of adrenaline. Because when that wore off when I was walking through Target my lower back and leg were feeling something fierce cutting my trip short. 

One of the weird things that I thought I imagined was the driver of the van asking me “Is the man okay?”

“What man?” I asked.

He looked back at my truck. “There wasn’t a man driving?”

I shook my head confused, “No, I was driving.”

It wasn’t until my lawyers and I talked about a year later did I see the police footage with that conversation. It still is so strange. 

I always joked that my guardian angel was too busy stopping my car and that he didn’t have time to stop the van from hitting my truck. 

The day before my accident, I had an MRI. I had completed months of physical therapy for my shoulder and occlusally my lower back during my cycle. The issue with my shoulder was over stretching the ligament with how I was sleeping. The reason I was always getting an MRI of my back was because my sciatic nerve was a pain in the ass during my cycle.

My need to find out why I was in pain was used against me. The witch took the doctor’s note and left out the parts about why I was having leg pain. I don’t know how many times I wanted to scream during mediation that what she was saying was incorrect. Instead she called me a liar, saying all my pain from the accident I had before. So many times I wanted to say “yes I had random pains that would leave. But now for the last three years I have not had my leg burn. That’s how I know it isn’t the same.” 

The witch’s purpose in life was to make sure the insurance company paid as little or nothing as possible. That meant dragging me through the mud, questioning all my life choices. During this process I learned lawyers aren’t there to discover or show the truth, they are there to cover you with dirt. She insisted I had no additional damage from the accident. Which I did. 

I was thankful I had a childhood friend as one of my lawyers. Before he could say anything, my head lawyer called out the witch for attacking me. She tried to pull the female card, saying, “I’ve been practicing law for blah blah years and no one has ever accused me of attacking someone.” 

While she was going on her tangent about disrespect, I was wracking my brain trying to remember where my Nero said my injury was. I had received multiple epidurals and was trying to set up an appointment for a nerve ablation. If I had pains before, why had none of my doctors ever done this for me? Before the accident, my spine was in excellent shape, deemed “beautiful.” Which it still was until you reached the bottom spine. That is where my Nero and all the radiologists saw my herniated disks, spinal stenosis, and that my L4/L5 was squishing the disk. The disk was pinching the nerve, sending the pain down my leg for the last three years. 

Pointing this out to my lawyers, they countered her smug response that her radiologists saw nothing wrong with my spine. Apparently, her radiologists were like most doctors I’ve dealt with. They probably saw my age and just half assed glanced at my scans. I am grateful for my lawyers. I have always had to defend myself so often with my medical history. It was amazing to have someone on my side, challenging the narrative, and exposing the witch was ripping and twisting reality. 

But I couldn’t bring something up during the whole legal process. The mental anguish that I went through. The reason I was told not to bring it up was for the reason above. If I brought my mental health into the case, then the witch would rip a part of everything that I had gone through in my past. I hated that. I didn’t need someone questioning anything more about me.  

It was painful to not be able to write about what was going on with me. Things that have changed about my body may seem minor to others, but for me, it has deeply impacted my life. I tend to avoid basic chores because bending for dishes or laundry will pinch the nerve and will set it into overdrive. But I can’t actually avoid them, so I have to suck it up and know that after chores, I will need to stretch. If I don’t move to get my nerves to calm down, I’ll be in pain for the rest of the day because 99% of the time, it is too early in the day to take a muscle relaxer. I have three kids. I can’t be a zombie or have my house be in shambles. So I make due as I always have in life. 

I have lived in pain for my whole life. Before finding out I had celiac disease, my joints would lock up, my digestive track was near shredded, and there’s a laundry list to go with everything else. Although this pain was new, I was not new to pain. There was no way I would allow myself to be a victim to pain. My perseverance is what kept me from falling apart these last three years. It’s about the only thing aside from my husband that kept me from spiraling into the dark abyss of depression when I could not do things I enjoyed. 

Adelyn started cheering about six months after my accident. That’s when I discovered how limited my range of motion had become. I have always been a hyper flexible person and when she started learning different moves, as basic as they were, my back would not allow me to bend. I could not show her how to do a simple backbend because my back just stopped. Also, I learned I could not hold the scorpion stunt. The moment I bent backwards to bring my foot to my head, my back seized. Instead of a scorpion’s tail, I became a jumbled mess of limbs. 

My physical therapist always joked about how bendy I am. Which is true, I am still bendy. But I can no longer go as deep into a Sirsa Padasana pose as I once was. The Sirsa Padasana is when you lie on your stomach and touch your toes to your head. I could wrap my toes to my chin. I can now barely reach my back. 

Limited flexibility was something I could live with. It wasn’t as if I was walking around like a contortionist in my spare time. However, what I could not live with and needed to remedy right away was the amount of pressure that my spine would be in after getting out of the pool. I have spent nearly all my life in the water. For 13 years of my life, I was a competitive swimmer and as I aged out of competing, swimming was a way to relax. I had never experienced pain before when pressing off out of a flip turn. That was supposed to be a point of power to keep me going while I was exhausted, instead, as I pushed off the wall, I would get jolting pain shooting up my leg and into my spine.

My legal battle ended over a month ago, and the pain hasn’t left. I’d love to send the witch a letter or a link to my blog. I know she’s seen it before. I watched her page hop through every single blog post that dealt with my health. I’ll never know if she was planning on using it against me. But if she had tried I would have asked her. I know every single pain in my body. I have documented it for the world to see. This one is new, now old, but new to the list of shit that has tried to destroy me my whole life. 

I don’t know how people can defend companies like they are human. It’s as if insurance companies suffer when paying the injured. I could call them fire drakes or other things that like to hoard wealth. But human, no. I’d like to think we all still have a sliver of decency that when people get hurt, we take care of them.  

Writing

All about Spookables

Alexandra Diane

By: Adelyn (Age 7)

***Adelyn was nervous about the hurricane. The power kept flickering as the evening went on. So I suggested that she and her brother should look for Spookables. (The monsters from Winnie the Pooh.) Quicky, she grabbed her and her baby brother a flashlight and they spent an hour going around the house looking for Spookables. By the time she was done, Adelyn asked if she could use one of my notebooks to write a story and I said, “Of course.” ***

Please enjoy the story she wrote to distract herself from the storm:

All Spookables live in the attic. Be careful because the moment you get in they will gobble you up. The zombies like brains. The vampires like your blood. The ghosts like to scare you. The ogres like your muscles to eat. The werewolves like our meat to eat. Now you know what Spookables eat. All Spookables like to workout. Ogres love to work out.

There is an unknown Spookable I just figured out who she was. She turns into a human! She’s the only Spookable that shapeshifts. She’s lonely. Now she’s my BFF. She’s was a big light. She was scared at first, but not anymore.