I actually have a moment to blog this morning. I have the desire to write. I am even in the mood. I have no idea what I want to write. Good thing this endeavor is called ‘Ramblings.’ So, why am I not at school getting ready to educate the future generations of ramblers at 7:39 in the morning? I have to go to court this morning. It’s true. I will soon be convicted of teaching while gay. I hope they let me paint my cell. Maybe hang some taffeta from the bars. Actually, I am going to testify in a murder trial. While the first option probably sounds more believable, the second is the one composed of fact. It is my second time in a ‘citizen’s duty’ role in a court room. The other was ten years ago, when I was nineteen. Back then, you know, in the 1990’s, I was in the jury for a shaken baby case. The kid died. The mother was a lying coward. The boyfriend was convicted. Today, I have been subpoenaed to testify on the part of one of my old kids at the residential treatment center where I was a counselor and teacher. He was sixteen when he killed his friend’s father. He is being tried as an adult. He definitely did it. We always knew he would kill someone. We told everyone in legal system that he was going to kill people. He was certifiably nuts. Sweet, but nuts. Still, as per typical, our system we have in place to help children and those with disabilities took the ostentatious stand that it is cheaper and less stressful to simply eject a child from mental health care and structured support, release them into the wild and wait for them to act upon their natural inclination. Well, shit, who can blame our law makers and decision makers? A jail cell is a lot less expensive than paying a counselor like me my twenty-one thousand dollar a year salary. I doubt they will let him decorate his cell. While I have always been opposed to most who plead insanity to their murder sentences, in this case, it is factual, and the reason I am testifying. True, he is the one that murdered someone. However, if the powers-that-be had listened to us in the manner for which they hired us, we would have one less murderer, one less widow, and one less fatherless daughter. It will be strange to stand in front of a court room and my old counselee and proclaim him mentally crazy and unfit. However, that is precisely what I am going to do, both for the truth of the matter and some small justice that is owed to him.
Hold on for an abrupt and rather inappropriate transition coming up, brought to you by MSN’s health page this morning:
“Among all the odors tested, the combination of pumpkin pie and lavender produced the greatest increase in arousal (a 40 percent increase in penile blood flow).” Well, Duh! Pumpkin has always done it for me. It is my favorite scent. Favorite flavor of everything. Favorite color. It is perfection. However, I have never thought of combining it with the scent of lavender. I always combine it with other spice smells, cinnamon (which MSN told me yesterday that a teaspoon of a day increase some health aspect of some sort—in short, bring on the desserts people!), clove, etc. I am a little excited, and trepidatious. Just when I thought I couldn’t get any more sexually charged. . . uh oh! Hope Chad knows what he is in for. . . Maybe someone should warn him before he comes home tonight. Both in terms of me and all the spicy scents that will assaulting his senses (he likes cleaner sorts of scents—sometimes sweet). How’s that for too much information? While I have always known that pumpkin acts as a sort of Viagra for me, I must confess that it a titch worrisome. Pumpkin is also one of more wholesome edible commodities in our world. Most would say that the Apple has the honor of holding this title. Mom’s apple pies. Apples for teachers. Blah, blah, blah. Ever heard of a wily, sexy, little vixen by the name of Eve? She least she had the balls to be original in her corruption. While, I am sure, Adam was fucking hot, he was a bit of a douche. True, neither of them should have eaten the all mighty ‘apple,’ but at least Eve had the originality to do something inventive. I am not sure what my erotic obsession with this orange lumpy jack-o-lantern represents or says about my psyche, but I am sure it is not good and shows that I have penis envy and have unresolved issues around my long lost My Little Pony Daycare Center dollhouse. I had these adorable little My Little Pony twin babies. Sigh. I hope they are doing ok. . .