In which there is a quote and some rambling

Today's quote:
There comes a time in a man's life when to get where he has to -- if there are no doors or windows -- he walks through a wall. -Bernard Malamud, novelist and short-story writer (1914-1986) 

I read this and thought about the many guys who have told me that at some point the need to be true to their homosexual feelings overpowers their fears. This applies particularly to men who come out in midlife, though younger guys sometimes feel like that. So I've been told. And some have walked through walls to come out.

In other news, Christmas. I'm about ready for Christmas now. I've started my Christmas baking. I made an eggnog custard pie this afternoon, and baked my first ever fruitcake. It's my mother-in-law's recipe, and I love hers. Not sure if this one will measure up. Let me go taste-test it.

Meh, it's OK. Not as good as my mil's. A little bit dry. Superman likes it. The pie is fantastic, though.

Superman and I are watching "Despicable Me" on our new TV set*. We got a wall bracket with which to hang it this evening. Sproing crawled under the house today to move the cable from one wall to another so we can get a bunch of channels with nothing to watch on the new TV. It was Sproing's first time under the house. He claims it is his last. Silly boy didn't like it much. Superman has never liked it either. We are watching Despicable Me because 1) there isn't anything good on broadcast TV and 2) I want to see Despicable Me 2 so figured it'd be good to remind myself of the original first.

C was admitted to the hospital this evening. His left ankle is swollen and red, and after consulting with his mother over the phone (she's a nurse) he had us drop him off at the ER. He called us about an hour ago and said they were admitting him. Something about a possible infection in his leg/foot. And he has septicemia marks running up his leg. I guess I'll go see him in the morning, see if anyone knows any more.

A few days ago I took the space bar key off my keyboard and ever since it hasn't been as responsive. So my words are running together in type as well as in my head.

And speaking of running together in my head, my thoughts. They do that. I wonder once again if I should take medication for ADD. I get so befuddled when I try to do any work around here. There's this, oh and that, and wait, wasn't I doing something else? I need to remember to do the other thing before it gets too something. All at the same time.

*Does anyone call them TV sets anymore? A set of what? Not cathode ray tubes, that's for sure. An array of liquid crystal displays or something, maybe. No wait, this one is an LED. I don't know what LED stands for.

Mid December rambling

Listening to


at the recommendation of Victor. I recently discovered his blog, and boy, do I like it! I'm trying to add his blog to my blog list over there on the right, but Blogger isn't cooperating. Either that or I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. The latter is more probable.

As previously posted, Twitch graduated from college yesterday. Superman and I went to Charlotte for the festivities. We had a lovely time, but did not leave the city until nearly 10:00 last night. Two and a half hours (approx.) to get home, then I had some baking to do. I think I mentioned in a recent post that I have renewed my domestic efforts, vis. cooking and baking. I am baking all of our bread now. A couple of days ago I fed the bread starter and had rather a lot of starter to work with. As many people as we have eating all my bread, I decided to make a large batch. I failed to account for spending all yesterday away from home. Before we left home I put the dough in the bread pans for the second rising, hoping that it would rise slowly. This bread does rise much more slowly than typical yeast bread. But not that slowly. It over-proofed. Nevertheless, I baked all eight loaves when I returned home after midnight last night. I can only fit four loaf pans in the oven at once, and it cooks for half an hour. By the time the bread was all baked it was 2:fucking-late a.m. Fresh bread usually has a lovely rounded top crust. These crusts fell. The bread looks kinda pathetic. I cut one of the loaves fresh out of the oven, slathered butter on the end piece, and enjoyed. It looks a bit funny, the texture is too loose (don't know how else to describe it), but it tastes damn good! Four pieces of fresh buttered bread good. In related news, I'm not progressing well with my weight loss. This too shall come. Still, last time I checked, I've lost and kept off 30 lbs. Yay me!

But the point I attempted to make is that I am SO tired today! I got up before 8:00 to take Superman to work. He wisely went to bed soon after we got home. I was at least 1.5 hours behind him.

I recently bought myself a couple of long sleeved t-shirts. This is my current favorite.

I'm wearing it today. Coincidentally (on purpose) I'm seeing my therapist today. She likes this shirt, too. At this point my plan is to make it a shorter visit than usual with the therapist (tried and failed at that last week) so I can come home and take a well-deserved nap. Have I mentioned that I love naps?

I'm going in for a bit of surgery next Tuesday (the 18th). Sometime over the past few months I have developed a small hernia just north of my navel. I thought it was an umbilical hernia, but when the surgeon checked he said it was slightly above there. OK. He described it as a small hole in the integument.* He didn't use that word exactly, but I really like it. My belly fat pooks out through the hole when under strain. You know, the way hernias do. I suggested that since the fat was pooking out anyway, he might as well remove all that fat, too. He didn't think so. Shucks. The procedure for the repair is kinda cool. Rather than simply sewing up the hole, he'll put a mesh patch-type thing behind the hole to block it up, sort of like they repair small holes in tires these days. Superman says I'm gonna get a rivet. He also describes the hernia as like unto a turkey pop-up timer.
  It's a lot of fun to be married to that man!

During the pre-surgery tests and paperwork this week I learned that I'll be under general anesthesia. I suggested since it's such a small thing perhaps a local anesthesia would work. But no, they won't do that. In case things are more complicated once they get in there they want to have me already under so they can do what needs to be done. That's how the nice lady explained it. Whatevs. I actually kinda like being under general anesthesia. It's a fun kind of stoned, you know? I also like to have the minimum fuss and bother, hence the request for a local.

Seems there was more I wanted to ramble about, but it is now time for me to go see my Thurpist, so I must depart. Here's the post. Enjoy. (past tense, now, since if you've read this far, you've pretty much read it all)

* Epimysium

The epimysium surrounds the whole skeletal muscle. This is a dense layer of connective tissue. The fascia forms an integument around the epimysium.

Conversations with myself

This is a sample of what's happening in my brain on this Sunday morning.

I didn't do any school work yesterday. There is so much to do!

I know. I'm so easily distracted.

That's a sorry excuse. I'm lazy and undisciplined.

And fat as a direct result.

Let's not go down that road. Think of something more positive.

[that's the influence of cognitive behavioral therapy]

When will people realize I'm a genius and not bother me with mundane things like laundry and housework?

There is value in the mundane. It helps balance you. That's what I've heard, anyway.

Yeah, I've also heard that exercise is fun, exhilarating even. I've never gotten that far even after sticking with an exercise program for months. Crock of shit in my experience. I believe it works for others.

Or perhaps I'm not doing it right. I certainly don't have a ...

I forgot what I was saying. Back to my genius. I want them to take care of the mundane so I can concentrate on ... whatever it is I do best. And they need to quit just quit making me feel guilty for being ... whatever it is that doesn't fit their design for me.

Who are "they" anyway?

They know who they are.

"They" are me. I accept guilt for things I don't do, ways I don't fit perfection. Ways I don't even come close to approaching perfection.

Eat the cookie crumbs from my shirt.

I need to find my ear plugs. Sproing is awake now, making noise, arguing with the players on his Xbox sports game. Distracting.

I'm easily distracted. I use it as an excuse.

Or maybe ... I forgot what I was going to say.

Get up, Java. Move your legs around, get the blood flowing, walk across the room and find the ear plugs in your desk drawer.

I hope they're in my desk drawer. I'm not sure where.. Wait, I know I have some in my toolbox.

Oh! I need to go to the hardware store today to get the supplies for the next art project.

I also need to elaborate on my sketches for that project.

[I'll tell you about the next sculpture project later. It involves sculpting cement. Mortar mix, actually]

I'm getting distracted even writing the side notes here.

And I still haven't gotten my ear plugs.

Hang on.

Back. Looked in 4, no 5, no 6 desk drawers (I have two desks) and got distracted by the stuff I found. Didn't find the earplugs. Smelled the incense (can't spell incense) in one of the drawers, had to light that.

Incense adds another dimension (can't spell dimension) to a space. Helps delineate (can spell delineate) one space from others.

Took 6 minutes to get my ear plugs. They weren't in any of the desk drawers, but I found them in my toolbox.

Also found other stuff in my toolbox. So that's where my other long-sleeved shirt is! I've been looking for it.

Still missing at least one long-sleeved shirt. The one with the most burn holes in it. Might be in my workspace at school.

The earplugs aren't working as well as I wish they would. Perhaps I'll find the noise-reducing ear muffs-that-look-like-headphones and wear those as well.

I can hear myself breathing when my ears are plugged. It's distracting.

Everything is distracting; get real.

Oh, Light has my Get Real DVD, and all my other gay movies. I need my gay movies back.

Perhaps I should wait util the end of the semester to get my gay movies back. I certainly don't have time to waste watching movies, dammit.

I want this semester to be over, except I don't. I want to have some time to waste. If I didn't have schoolwork to do I'd watch some movies, start another knitting project. I want to make that new hat pattern I bought. Have the yarn for it, too. I've never knitted a hat, and I like the style of that pattern.

Or I could quit typing here and get on with my school work.

What do I need to do today? Let's see, get stuff from the hardware store. Don't want to do that yet. Will go this afternoon, but before the sun gets low enough that it's in my eyes as I drive over there. Hate that.

Want more coffee. Where's Superman?

Also need to write that position paper for Dr. B's class. Dammit, I should have worked on that during spring break. Didn't do squat that whole week. What a waste of time. Lazy ass. Fat lazy ass.

That's where this discussion started. Done that already. Back to what I need to accomplish today.

OK, the position paper for Dr. B, Oh, and study for the test Tuesday in Dr. W's class! Shit. What an idiot

[Dr. W is an idiot, not me. Not that I'm not sometimes an idiot, too, but I'm referring to Dr. W this time. He's the same fool who taught the sexuality class last semester. This is the third class I've had with him. This time it's substance abuse. This is his specialty, what he does as a clinician. He should have more of a clue about this. He doesn't. He's an idiot. I need to have a discussion... oh, never mind.]

Once again, my asides get as rambling as my stream of consciousness bullshit.

Concentrate Java! I need to write the damned paper, study for the idiot's test, and pleasepleasepleaseplease read all the way through at least one of the articles for the research class.

Yeah, the research class. Was going to read a bunch of those articles over spring break.

Don't go there again. We've had that discussion.

Moving right along, have approximately 26 articles to read, and write a thingie (she called it an annotated bibliography) for every one of them. How many articles have I read? Zero. When is the semester over? Damn, about 5 or 6 weeks.

Don't want to take the time to count the weeks right now. Don't want to actually know how many. Can stay in denial better if I don't look at the calendar.

Damn, I have so much to do. Projects in two art classes. Want to play in the mud more, have the rest of one, then two more pieces to do in ceramics. Should have been completely finished with these vessels two weeks ago.

This isn't helping. I'm just making myself more stressed thinking about all the shit I have to do for school, much less for the rest of my life.

When will they realize ("they" know who they are) that I'm a genius, a mad genius maybe probably and let me concentrate on the important stuff?

[Have you ever seen a picture of Einstein's desk? Google it. Thomas Edison's too. Geniuses. That's what my whole fucking life looks like. Pain in the ass.]

But is that a good thing? Not necessarily. Can't find shit half the time. I want my life to be a bit more organized.

Is my brain capable of that? Am I so ADD that it's impossible for me to get my shit together?

[Did I mention that I actually do have ADD? My psychiatrist finally told me so. Then he moved away. Good enough. He was largely useless except for giving me drugs. But he didn't medicate me for the ADD. What's up with that?]

Yum. Coffee good. Fresh hot coffee good. The combination of bananas and pecans taste better than bananas with walnuts, IMHO. I'm not a huge fan of walnuts. Breakfast.

Where were we? Ah yes, back to the whole "spend the day studying" idea.

Writing this stream of consciousness bullshit has been a lovely way to distract myself from the real purpose of my day. Studying. Writing that damned paper. Reading the articles. Oh, and studying for that idiot's test. What a waste of time, that last one. I'll do it because I love getting good grades. But damn, what an idiot.

I said that already.

Shut up already! Can't I find a way to end this post?

Java, walk away from the blog. Hit "publish post" then close the browser.

Now, Java!

...

All over the place

My brain is doing the ADD thing tonight.  Did I tell you my psychiatrist tested me for ADD?  I might have.  The test results indicate that I don't have ADD.  Could it be a false negative?  I'm not sure how it is with the mental tests.  I feel a deficit in my attention.  I'm in debt to attention, not able to pay.

I am so grateful for my online friends.  Yes, I'm talking to you.  This whole mess with S has been so much easier to bear with the advice and encouragement I've received here.  I am feeling rather good about things so far.  It's early yet.

And I'm emotional anyhow.  I read your blogs and your comments and your emails and I get all misty.  What a great group of bloggers you are!  Thank you all for sharing, for caring, for living the exemplary lives you do.  I swell with pride at your accomplishments and acheivements.  I mourn with you over the difficulties and losses in your lives.  I thrill to your enticing, exciting discoveries.  

Oh, and I'm also getting out more.  I have spent somewhat less time online (I may be a bit slower getting around to your blog) and more time in this thing called real life.  It's interesting, but not so easy.   The interruptions are particularly annoying.  ADD redux.  

About interruptions.  I get so easily distracted.  I distract myself a lot of the time.  And around here I have lots of help with the distracting, as you might well imagine.   I stop in mid sentence and can't remember what I was saying.  Drives Superman and Light crazy.  

I went into Light's room this evening.  Superman had taken the other kids to their soccer game.  Twitch went along, I dunno, to oogle the girls or something.  Or maybe to see if there was a concession stand at the park.  Anyway, I was more or less alone.  C and S were outside doing other stuff.  Light has been at college for a couple of weeks now.  And over the weekend Superman ripped out the carpet in our living room.  Hallelujah!  That stuff was some wicked kind of nasty.  It's mainly the dog's doing.  She's no longer with us, may she rest in peace, and we've taken the stinky carpet out!!  That entailed a lot of shifting of furniture.  Since Light isn't using her room here, we put some of the stuff in there to get it out of the way.  Well, I need to shift stuff around some more.  And I want to use Light's room as a second get-away spot (besides my bed, which is the only place I have that is MINE, GO AWAY!!)  I want to store my sewing and craft supplies in her room.  A lot of it is in the midst of the living room now, as she evicted it from her room for the summer.  

Anyway, trying to keep the point here, I went to Light's room to make a place for some things.  But I couldn't.  I can't move this without help.  And this has to move before I can shift the other.  I can't get to that because do-hicky will fall apart if I try.  And that's just in her room.  There are two other rooms I'm working with, each with its own piles of crap to maneuver.  If I had a firm grasp of what I'm trying to accomplish with all this, I suspect it might go easier.  

So I walked into Light's bedroom, shifted a couple of boxes around, turned around a few times.  I touched this, that, the other, trying to figure out the how of it all.  And turned around some more.  Then I went to the kitchen and stared at the table.  Hmm.  And I turned around a couple of times there.  Afterwards I went to the living room, now with an interesting array of miscellany piled in random drifts throughout the room.  You guessed it, more spinning aimlessly.  At which point I sighed a deep sigh and came back to the blogs.  There's nothing I can do now.  Maybe tomorrow.  I have high hopes for tomorrow.

The kitchen floor needs to be mopped.  I'm not good at mopping.  Moping I do fairly well.  Mopping, I usually just make a big mess.  Last time I attempted to mop up a sticky spill in the kitchen I ended up making a much larger area of the floor all sticky and nasty, and broke the mop for added interest.  Why?  I have no idea.  Some say it's psychosomatic.  I think messy, therefore I am messy.  Perhaps.  But I try to be neat and clean, and chaos ensues.  There are times this bothers me greatly.  Other times I am amused.  

So, on the off chance I can get the kitchen floor cleared and swept, I'll attempt to mop it tomorrow.  Then I'll do other strange things to it.  Maybe I'll take pictures.  We haven't had a post with pictures in a while.  

I'm fighting with the temptation to criticise myself.  Maybe I'm just tired.  It is late.  OK, not going into how I've failed to accomplish the simple tasks most women find so enriching.  Nope.  Not going to compare myself to others who can keep their homes neat and clean.  Instead I'll post this, log off the computer, and go to bed.  Time has come for that now.  The mess will still be here tomorrow.  Woe is me.  I'll look at it again then.  

Twitchiness

Meet Twitch, my son. He is my son, and I love him very much. This isn't always easy. I woke up very early this morning and he was already awake. He greeted me with fuss and argument. This is not what I want to do at 4:30 in the morning before I've had my coffee.


Things about Twitch

1. He is 16 years old.
2. He will be 17 on Valentine's Day.
3. He is 6 feet tall, weighs aprox. 230 lbs.
4. His hair is coarse and tends to curl a bit, though isn't what you'd call curly, exactly. And it is a medium brown color. He wants straight hair.
5. He likes heavy metal music. Or at least I think that's what they call that screaming thumping noise that pulses through the walls of his room.
6. He likes to listen to his music when he wakes up in the morning, even if it is 3:00 in the morning.
7. He's not very considerate of others. Oh, I said that. He's 16.
8. He suffers from a number of neurological irregularities.
9. When he suffers, we all suffer. He's 16.
10. He's been diagnosed with Attention Deficit Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, Depression, and Tourette's Syndrome. I suspect he also has some anxiety disorder.
11. He suffers a lot. And I really do sympathize with him, and feel bad for him. However, refer to #9 above.
12. One symptom of the above disorders (probably Tourette's or OCD, maybe more) is physical tics. These manifest in the poor boy as a need to rattle any paper he is holding, bang his fist on tables, desks, counters, etc., bang the back of his arm/elbow against a wall or chair that he's leaning against, and bang his fist against his thigh. There are more, but that's what I can think of right now.
13. He is compelled to speak very fast. He rushes to get his words out as fast as he can, and doesn't pay adequate attention to annunciation. His speech can be virtually impossible to understand at times. When asked to repeat himself, he usually spits it out as fast as he did the first time. This is frustrating for everyone, including himself.
14. He is easily frustrated.
15. He likes to argue. He denies this, very argumentatively. It would be funny if it wasn't me he was arguing with. You may laugh if you like.
16. He is very intelligent. He reasons in unique ways, and conversations with him can be very surreal. It has been ever thus, since he began to speak in sentences at age 3.
17. He talks to himself. A lot. He carries on in depth conversations with himself when he is alone in his room.
18. He talks in his sleep. Loudly. Sometimes it is difficult to tell if he's awake or asleep when we hear his voice through the walls of his room. He usually makes more sense when he's awake. Usually. We all find this amusing.
19. He belches most impressively. His burps resound through the house.
20. He is a Boy Scout. He has been active in Boy Scouts since the 5th grade. Currently he holds the rank of Star Scout, but he only needs to have a board of review to make Life Scout. He is aiming for Eagle Scout, and is more than half way there now. I am extremely proud of him for this accomplishment.
21. He is good at all those scout-y things, like camping and building fires and chopping wood. This is useful.
22. He is good at naming things. He named our dog, Ruby. He used to name all of his stuffed animals. He has named a few other things, but I don't remember what exactly. He gets the essence of the thing in his naming.
23. He likes animals, especially cats. He has a cat, an all black neutered male we acquired one October (I think) named, appropriately, Samhain. Because of the allergies of many family members the cat is an outside cat. Current temperature 27F. I let him inside a few minutes ago. I'm not completely heartless.
24. His social skills aren't good. I suspect he is on the high functioning end of the autism spectrum. I have discussed this with some of his doctors, but there hasn't to my knowledge been an official diagnosis. He doesn't make friends easily.
25. He is very unique, obviously. A teenage boy attending public school is at a social disadvantage if he is unique. A socially challenged unique teenage boy is in deep doo doo.
26. He makes good grades when he applies himself. He is very smart and can remember a lot. But he has standards. If a teacher gives an assignment that he deems irrelevant he won't do it. Last year in art class he didn't like the final assignment the teacher gave them. She assigned a research paper on any famous artist. He wanted to do an art project; you know, make art. So he didn't do the assignment. He took a grade of 96 down to a 74. That is passing, but barely. I was livid. This is not adaptive behavior. That won't fly in the real world.
27. He is a good artist. He especially likes to draw. He doesn't use color much, just graphite pencil or sometimes charcoal. Cartoons are among his favorite things to draw. He's got an odd sense of humor, somewhat dark, often very funny. His art has been one of the best expressive outlets for him as he struggles through the growing up process.
28. He likes to read cartoons. One of his favorites is Calvin and Hobbes. (The boy has good taste in cartoons with this one, IMHO) He learned to read by reading Calvin and Hobbes comic books. I home schooled him until he was in 6th grade. He resisted reading. Hell, he resisted just about anything. He's stubborn. But he loved Calvin and Hobbes and would spend long hours on his bed looking at the books. The humor spoke to him, and he had to read it to get it, so he did. I gave him a few tools, but he taught himself to read.

I was very angry with the boy when I sat down to write this. I'm glad I did this, though. It has calmed me down and helped me remember the struggles he has. It has also reminded me how funny and smart and unique and special he is, those things about him I really like.

At issue this morning: The cat. It is, as I mentioned, kinda' cold here. The cat comes inside sometimes when it is very cold. Twitch isn't allergic to cats, and it is his cat, so Samhain often spends his inside time in Twitch's room. This is normal. However we have no litter box for the cat in there, and no food. Samhain only hides out in there temporarily. He's an active kitty and wants to roam anyway.

Twitch has a bed, but doesn't like his mattress. It is an old and saggy mattress, and I don't blame him for disliking it. C and S recently bought themselves a new futon, but like their old futon mattress better than the one that came with the new one, so they gave this extra futon mattress to the boy. He put it on top of his existing mattress. I told him to put a sheet on it to protect it. He's 16, and straight, so he needs to be told these things. Well, he's 16 and I'm his mom, so of course he didn't do what I asked him to. 2 weeks ago.

Last night Samhain was in his room. Someone else threw the cat in there, he claims. The cat, being a cat, barfed on the mattress. The mattress that has no sheet on it. Twitch, being 16, either couldn't or didn't want to figure out how to clean it up. So he took the mattress off his bed and carried it to the living room and dumped it on the floor. When I came out of my room at 4:45 he immediately started fussing at me (rather loudly for the hour and the number of people asleep in the house) because someone put the cat in his room. He demanded to know who did it because punishment must be administered. Now? Whatever. I fussed at him because he hadn't put a sheet on his bed, pointing out that a sheet is easier to clean than a mattress. This is the same reasoning I gave 2 weeks ago when I told him to put the sheet on. But I digress.

I asked if he'd cleaned up the mess. At first he said yes, but really he'd just moved the mattress. Then he admitted the mess was still there, so I had him show it to me. Gentle readers, this cat barf mess was the littlest bit of nothing I've seen in a while. One spot about 3-4 inches across. He said he couldn't find any all-purpose cleaner. I had him get a rag, wet it, and wipe the mess up. Didn't even use any cleaner. Then I found the Febreeze for him to spray on it and made him carry it back to his room. The whole time he was arguing with me, demanding to know who put the cat in his room. I don't know, I went to bed early last night. That's not the point, anyway. What's done is done. Water under the bridge. Cat barf already on the mattress. Just deal with it and move on. But he's 16. And OCD. Good gawd.

He was arguing loudly, he was stomping and banging, he had his music up too loud. That he didn't wake up Sproing is a miracle. Sproing is a very light sleeper, and sleeps on the other side of the wall from Twitch's room.

He's my son. He has issues. He is also a wonderful young man with lots of promise. And I love him. And he went back to bed so isn't here to continue aggravating me. All is well.

:::RANT WARNING:::

I was going to type up some thoughts I've had stewing in my brain about gender conforming vs. gender non-conforming modes. But Mr. Sunshine's latest post triggered an avalanche of passion that I decided to share with you instead. You've been warned.

Ya' know what teachers did with kids in the 60s and 70s? Yea, they smacked 'em down, but there really wasn't as much trouble as there is now. Kids were taught better at home. This is no reflection on your parenting at all, trust me. It's a cultural thing. If a noisy handful of kids are getting away with it, it influences others that are not as willing to start shit. They just join shit in progress. Back in the day parents didn't buy into the psychobable of the parenting "experts" like they do today. They knew misbehavior for what it was, and treated it accordingly. And if Kelly did something wrong on 3rd Street, Mrs. Jones saw it, called Kelly's mother at her home on 5th St., and by the time Kelly got home, there was a switch waiting on him/her.

And the kids those days were outside playing, by and large. They ran, they explored, they discovered many interesting things that they had to THINK about, independent of how some other agency told them they should think. Today kids are staring at alphabet-named screens. You know, LED, HDTV, CRT (though not too many look at CRT screens anymore). The television programming, video games, computer games and MySpace type places - these things teach children what to think. They make sure to avoid teaching children HOW to think. School curriculums from day care and nursery school all the way through high school, and beyond in some instances, reinforce what to think and discourage independent thinking. We are (have?)creating a generation of drones.

So these kids are in classrooms, especially the younger ones just learning not to think, and the kids are restless. They have impulses of creativity and originality but no tools to channel these energies in positive directions. The teachers and administrators discourage positive release of this energy. They want the kids to sit down and swallow everything just as it is presented, no questions asked. Since the kids really don't know why they are so restless and unsatisfied, they "act out." The teachers have been trained not to think for themselves, to believe what the textbook authors and educrats tell them, so they are unprepared for your child's original ideas. Have you seen the crap the teaching colleges teach the teachers? It is concentrated bullshit.

So they medicate the problems. You are looking at this huge fortress of misguided mind control called public education, in an evil axis of alliance with The Media, having unrealistic expectations for your unique child. Plus all the other unique children who have yet to learn how not to think. It’s them against you and your child. In their world, you don’t really count. There is wonderful medication that can put the impulses under control, and the medical field is a willing cohort, especially since there is great wealth to be gained. (Healthcare is a rant for another day)
I could go on, but I’ll stop with this. I have thrown in the towel. The three children I have still in public school are all on (mind control) ADD medications. I don’t have the physical or mental stamina to fight it anymore. I do what I can with the kids when they are at home. But it could and should be done differently.