Tuesday Views: 28 March 2023

Too Poor for Grad School Rant

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Too Poor for Grad School Rant

I determined I am unable to pursue a Master of Education program because I am poor. I honestly wanted some way of affording to survive in my old age, because social security is a joke. It costs way too much. I am going to look for technical training. Again. Hope in one hand, and nothing in the other.

l live in this broke-down forgotten place where all the kids have the same haircuts and live off the dregs of high school applause. I wish I had more to offer.

Someone could have hired me. I have three jobs. I’m not lazy. I’m not stupid. I’m just different. Nerd. Mental. I went back to college to earn multiple degrees. I worked through those degrees. I expected results. I got the void. Is that why my dad’s side of the family have ceased communicating with me? No, they stopped liking me back in the year nineteen-experimental-college-nose ring.

My nine-year-old resting alongside the Great Allegheny Passage on our first bike ride together.

College is for rich people. What to do with all these extra people? What do we do with all of these indebted, stupid, lazy people? We give them garbage jobs in service and retail. Dash them against a pandemic. No future. No community. To keep dollars in your community, you need a community. It has become apparent that the power of local lending can make or break a community.

My students languish in social media and gaming purgatories in virtiual environments. They of the the pumped up kicks. That survival instinct kicks in when you realize you are in constant danger of being shot. They of the school shooting generation, people without protection, without real heroes.

My own high school, my alma mater has had two shootings. A psycho stayed home to kill a random pizza delivery driver, and a jilted high school paramour, a wooer who shot his ex in the butt between classes. The former drove the corpse to school to show his friends. He was begging for TikTok, amirite? The latter, deluded with rage and unruly hormones, shot his ex in a crowded hallway between classes. This past year, a student clobbered a substitute teacher working there, broke her leg. The sub and the student were arguing with one another, and then the student beat up the substitute.

I could get shot elsewhere, though. There’s no right place to get shot. Just go with it. I carried a rock with me to school every day. If the classroom was attacked, I had a weapon, a stone that fit perfectly in my hand, painted with stars and stripes. I die first, or no one does. Macho muerte, cincuenta-dos anos.

“Dad, why are the cops walking around with armor and guns in a lockdown?” I can’t tell him that our country is deranged. He still believes in Santa. He’s a hold-out. I tell him there are bad people. We wait for them to start shooting. Then we shoot back. We die by combat, as a choice. We fight for nothing.

Why? To protect Bubba’s Redneck’s right to own bunches of assault rifles. Politicians took a lot of convincing. They were well-bribed within the Event Horizon of the Beltway. Data becomes incoherent the closer you get to the money in there, the Dark Money.

People don’t walk around on military bases with guns. That’s not even civilized. The point is to be able to walk around places without guns. That is power. That is honor.

Shooting nine-year-olds at school. I have a nine-year-old. I am sort of overwhelmed by the shooting in Nashville yesterday. That murderer killed three nine-year olds. My son asks me why this is happening. We are responsible. I am speaking out. I am responsible. I am an adult. I can reason. Our leadership has failed to keep us safe from the gun laws.