Saturday, April 29, 2006, posted by Q6 at 7:10 PM
The other day my girlfriend made a comment that meant more to me than she can possibly know. She said that she liked seeing me being so happy. It's not like I've been the picture of depression or anything, but I haven't been truly happy about a lot of things in quite some time. My relationship with her--nine months strong--has been a relationship of new things, of complete honesty, and . . . other stuff I haven't had in most of my past relationships.

It would be cliche of me to say "I never thought I'd ever be this happy," but a cliche is a cliche because it's true. I am truly happy. Things are working out very well, and are unfolding at their own pace (I have a track record of forcing things to a plateau--or, in some cases, the finish line). I look forward to being able to say the same thing 50 or 60 years from now.
Thursday, April 20, 2006, posted by Q6 at 7:06 PM

That's my car.

I know that being a school administrator in charge of discipline has its risks, but this one threw me. In retrospect, I've been working with angry teenagers for over a dozen years, so I should be surprised that it's taken this long for something to happen. Be that as it may, I got a little honked off on this one.

For all these years I've been thanked by many people for the good job that I do. I get this at work, I get this from friends, I get this from family . . . . Most times I feel genuinely good from doing something well, regardless of the reward. To me, much of the time, having done something well is the reward. My mom taught me something I've always lived by: do one thing at a time, do it well, and do it like it's the only thing people will ever see from you. When you treat something that seriously, it's bound to make you feel good when you do it right.

Lately, that hasn't been the case for me. In recent weeks, I've not felt as good about doing a job well; partly because people have become dependent on it and increased the workload, and partly because it's been backfiring on me in places. I mean, look at the windshield of my car. I called this kid's house (he doesn't attend our school any longer) and asked his mom to make sure he didn't end up at or near the school that day, that we expected some trouble, and I didn't want him to have to deal with the police. I thought I was doing the kid a favor, really, keeping him away from the long arm of the law. She tells me she'll take care of it. Six hours later I'm picking glass shards out of my passenger seat.

(On a lighter note, I'd like to thank the kind folks at for coming to my house the next day and replacing the windshield right there in my own driveway.)