Saturday 06 September 2003

School started this week, and I'm not in front of a classroom. I moved to La Crosse County three years ago and now enter my 13th season in hell. My heart's been thrice broken, twice ripped apart by women I thought would stay with me forever, then trampled upon and destroyed by an employer.

Like Pontius Pilate, the principal washed his hands. The first day of the second semester he visited every classroom during first period to tell the students, "Mr. Jones has resigned from teaching to pursue other opportunities." Any student in the school, if you ask them, would tell you, "Jones got screwed."

"You brought this on yourself," the principal once said to me, the exact words Kari had used. I think that sentence actually means, "I don't like you and am happy not only to betray you, but to see you fail to the greatest of extremes." It's a sentence one only says before exacting revenge. It's a polite way of saying, "Go fuck yourself... after I'm done fucking you."

Sixty days ago I wrote here that there is a light at the end of this tunnel. This thirteenth will be my last season in hell.

I had an interesting day two weeks ago. (I didn't write about it at the time because I didn't want to break the spell Plato had cast in his writings.) However, it's time to announce there will be a hopeful ending to this chapter.

Mom came up to visit me for the day that Saturday, checking out how I was doing and making sure her boy was okay. She gave me another loan in order to pay my utilities bill. I'm happy to report that 71 days of darkness ended and I'm able to take hot showers and cook in my apartment once again.

During her visit, we went out to lunch and the hostess at the restaurant asked, "You're Mr. Jones, aren't you?" Her face was familiar but I'd have known if she was one of my students. Shortly thereafter she explained that she'd helped me move from the house in Mindoro to my apartment in Onalaska. I felt like shit for not remembering her.

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