Last post I explained how my wife questioned my unadulterated anger issues. This was just two nights ago when – at the time – my anger stemmed from a thing called insomnia. I promised to pursue the question further. Today I do just that.

Today I am angry about something else.

Neurologists. Neurologists in general, really. My own neurologist(s) have bombarded me with medications in an attempt to cure chronic migraines and neck pain – all to no avail. I eventually turned more towards diet and exercise (again) which has helped “naddah” either. So the Chinese have it all wrong, too.

Like a shrink once said, (not my own shrink, of course), “I need to think of my migraines as a permanent disorder. Like being a paraplegic.” Yet being able to, um, walk and stuff. A fair enough trade off, I suppose. It’d really suck if I couldn’t walk, and I had migraines and neck pain all the time. The logic is sound: Learn to Live With It.

Rogue’s neurologist (for her epilepsy) told me today that I need to be prepared for Rogue to die, since I no longer want to follow the pill regiment that had stripped my dog – a former star athlete – of her former life. She was a freak of nature, a dog with a combination of athleticism and intellect I had never before seen. Truly, a worthy best friend.

Less than a year after her first seizure, and her first pill, all her greatness vanished.

Today the only thing Rogue can do is wag her tail occasionally, eat a lot, and seize while pissing and pooping simultaneously.

“By far, the worst epileptic patient I had ever seen,” her neurologist said.

(I may get a lot of knocks for my brash personality and overall jerkish behavior, but at least I can make people feel comfortable in their own skin – Doctors, not so much.)

She insisted that, considering her recent seizure activity, we continue the same medicine at the same dosage. I insisted (considering she can’t do anything but eat, sleep, wag her tail, and poop and pee while convulsing like a demon-possessed beast from hell) she start a strict tapering program.

“I really don’t want to,” she said.

“I've listened to you for 18-months now. I’m well read. Have done my homework on epilepsy. Have witnessed over 50 seizures. And while I’m not the Dog Whisperer, I know my dog. So we can do this one of two ways,” I said.

I told her that she will come up with recommended tapering plan for me. Or I will. But we are cutting back her pills, regardless.

And that’s when she dropped the “D” word.

“Well, remember, she can die because of this.”

My best friend took a nose dive down the stairs right before the doctor visit, actually. Her deteriorated hind leg strength and lack of coordination – caused by the 13 pills she’s taking daily – can kill her too.

I told her this, but failed to conclude said statement with ", bitch." like I wanted to.

“Have you thought about euthanasia?” (No, not the loud mouth girl in my 6th period class.)

I’m such a tactless, heartless jerk who typically has the audacity to say things like “my principal doesn’t use Facebook,” and “my department chair said I don’t teach things I actually do.” So, yeah, I’m off the cusp – normally. But I refrain from saying what I really want to say here. I can do that on occasion, despite wanting to give her a painful – not painless – death.

After sparing her life, she begrudgingly agrees to establish a “neurologist approved weaning program.” She must really want my money – over six thousand dollars so far and counting.

She went on to compliment my wife and me on our thorough seizure log of Rogue, as well as the regular check-ups, and overall upkeep of our dilapidated pet. She even said, “I don’t know if I could do this with my own pet.”

What? I’d cut off my arm for my girl. Right now, if it guaranteed a long, seizure free, healthy and happy life, my left arm would be gone. How can she be a vet and feel this way?

I left the place with a $120 bill, an audacious migraine, a sick dog, and a lot of anger.

But tonight I will be watching Charlie Brown's "Great Pumpkin" with Team Billings - so that should help some.

About a lot of things.

But before I get into that I'd like to point out that even though I use no names and try to remain discrete, sometimes the truth just outright hurts and personal feelings may be compromised. Therefore, proceed with caution, or don't proceed at all.

Today was another Staff Development Day. Another chance to Observe. Listen. Learn. And Wonder.

This morning, as I pulled into school, I noticed the cross country team on the football field playing this elaborate makeshift game. A game - or rather an exhaustive workout designed behind the tapestry of a game - I invented more than four years ago. A game that, three years ago, almost killed my top distance boy and fastest male sprinter via a most delightfully brutal collision.

The boys who almost died on that fateful day are now long gone. One is in Guatemala on his Mormon Mission, after having ran one year collegiately in Virginia. The other (now a sophomore in college) leads the fourth ranked junior college in the nation. He is currently being pursued by a (Division I) Oklahoma program that is ranked fifth in the nation.  

(Do you hear the sound of me tooting my own horn?)

And then there is me. Just heading into a crumbling building, concerned about the State of My Crumbling Career.

At breakfast this morning I eat with the "old" teacher group this time. The "old" teacher group consists of teachers who 1) are old, and 2) have been teaching the longest in the department. 1) I am both the youngest, and 2) I have been teaching the fewest number of years at this particular table.

Call me an old soul. Old news. Yesterday's big story. Whatever the case may be, I eat with the Oldies but Goodies.

I learned - not through the Oldies, but through passing conversation - that we are getting another administrator. Which is odd, since I already thought we got another administrator at the start of the school year. I secretly wonder  (but do not say aloud in fear that I will be discovered as a complainer) if this rumored administrator will be teaching English II.

I learned - via a text - that my daughter pointed at her purple Leapster laptop today, turned to my wife, and said, "Thanks, Steve Jobs."

I learned (a couple of weeks ago, actually) that despite being the best candidate for the job, I probably will not be coaching distance runners in track. (I officially gave-up on cross country at my school, and turned - unsuccessfully - to its ugly step-sister-sport when I learned a spot would be open.)

Loathing is alive and well in Las Vegas. And my reputation for being a self-centered, egocentric, unpractical, self-deprecating, do-what-I-want-when-I-want, impossible-to-work-with kind of guy has ruined me.

Absolutely and positively ruined me.

I'm cancerous. Poisonous. Pomp....ous. To all but the students and athletes who themselves generally love and admire me and would follow me into the fiery depths of room number four-thirty-one with a stolen Conference Trophy in hand to hang on my wall - alongside all the other Conference Titles we won.

Toot,  toot.

Damn me for gaining respectability with the wrong demograph: the kids!

(Let it be known that I shopped free agency this past summer. There wasn't a school out there that needed both a Journalism teacher AND cross country coach. As much as I seriously thought about it, I wasn't about to drop Journalism just to take my talents somewhere else.)

But, like my credibility over the last two years (or around the same time I started writing this blog), I digress.

Last night I went to bed at 8pm. I was tired, so sleeping seemed like the best thing to do. A little after midnight, or after about four hours of lying in bed composing one story after the next in my head, my wife asked: Why are you so God Damned angry all the time?

This question was a valid one. I am angry a lot. And for a lot of different reasons. Yet it's a question I couldn't answer at the moment - because, at that moment, I was angry I couldn't fall asleep. (I would eventually lose consciousness three hours later. Which was three hours before I needed to get up to Observe. Listen. Learn. And Wonder.)

Wonder how, suddenly, certain people within the department have become omnipotent to the extent that they know exactly what we are doing in our classrooms at all times. I thought it was obvious: We aren't teaching Thesis Statements. And proficiency practice? What is that?

Or...

Observe the glaring rift in methodologies and personalities, yet wonder why nothing has been done in an attempt, from a leadership standpoint, to unite a splintered group and coagulate the varying viewpoints to a common cause: the new-found core curriculum. (I just wanted to sound like a politician there. You may now return to your regularly scheduled bitchgram.)

Or...

Listen to the High Horse neigh, snort, grunt, blow, and nicker in repeatedly failed attempts to rally the riders.

I understand the push  for resolution. Change is among all educators, and we need to be doing things a certain way. Soon. Unless, of course, we live in Alaska and Texas. I get it. I respect it. I've adapted. This year I've excessively taught grammar; planned weeks ahead with detailed lessons; have altered my teaching to accommodate the new and improved core curriculum; specifically collaborated with other teachers to ensure continuity; and have showed students what a thesis statement is. All things I hadn't done much of in the past.

I've roused and incited The Horse (something I have done much of in the past) enough to have it buck beneath me. Truth is I'll continue to jab and prod that Crowbait if it deliberately continues to ride me into the ground any further.

Did I mention that I taught my students what an extended metaphor is?

Oh, and here's a disturbing newsflash: I learned that part of the school's rehab will include closed captioning in each classroom, which suggests there will be a broadcast journalism course. Sadly, the entire staff learned of this news together, this morning, despite many personal inquiries over the past few years (and weeks) to see if this was going to come to fruition.

Did I mention I taught my students what foreshadowing is?

Lastly I learned that our Commander-in-Chief does not use Facebook "like all of us" - indicating that no vote was made on the President's behalf to help ensure the $10,000 school-based reward from the Nevada State Bank. For the record, I voted.

Once.

Toot, toot, toot.