I don’t think I’m alone when I say that I go through phases where I can’t sleep. I’ll toss and I’ll turn, but I can’t take myself to dreamland. My mind will be clouded with things I need to do the next day, things that happened the previous day or I’m just bundled up with all kinds of stress.
Over the years, I’ve found ways to cure my insomnia. It used to be that I’d close my eyes and think of a movie that I know by heart (usually favorites like ‘The Last Dragon,’ or ‘The Color Purple’). I’d replay it in my mind until I fell asleep. Most of the time, it worked. Now I decided to try something new, like a memory game. So I’ve been closing my eyes and seeing if I can rename each one of my teachers, all the way back to kindergarten. Each time I do it, it leads me to a memory I thought I’d forgotten.
In kindergarten, my teacher was Ms. S. She was probably in her thirties and had dark hair, pale white skin, and chubby rosy cheeks. She was fairly tall, or at least that’s what I thought since I was a miniature person back then. She wore a dress every day. We’d sit in a circle while she’d read us stories, and she’d allow the kids sitting in the front row to massage her legs through the panty hose she wore. It seemed perfectly normal then, but it’s actually kind of weird to look back on it.
Anyway, even my five year old self could pick up on the fact that Ms. S. had a crush on my dad. Whenever he would come pick me up, she always had to touch him or move her body really close to his. You’d think her having the hots for my dad would make me her favorite student. Not so! I’d venture to say Ms. S. was harder than me than on anyone else. She even told my mom some lies about my behavior that wound up getting me in trouble at home. I don’t recall the details, but I do know I didn’t do it. Ms. S. must’ve gotten me confused with another black girl in class, something I’d have to deal with the rest of my life.
I believe that was the year I decided that I hated milk, because Ms. S. would never let me leave the lunch table until I finished drinking that entire yucky glass of it. (I still despise milk, unless it’s in my cereal) In fact, my last conversation with her at my kindergarten graduation revolved around me needing to drink my milk. * Shrug *
It’s crazy all of the stuff you can remember in your dreams. I wonder what Ms. S is doing now. If she’s still teaching, I imagine they don’t allow all the lil kiddies sit around and touch her legs. Times have changed!
Over the years, I’ve found ways to cure my insomnia. It used to be that I’d close my eyes and think of a movie that I know by heart (usually favorites like ‘The Last Dragon,’ or ‘The Color Purple’). I’d replay it in my mind until I fell asleep. Most of the time, it worked. Now I decided to try something new, like a memory game. So I’ve been closing my eyes and seeing if I can rename each one of my teachers, all the way back to kindergarten. Each time I do it, it leads me to a memory I thought I’d forgotten.
In kindergarten, my teacher was Ms. S. She was probably in her thirties and had dark hair, pale white skin, and chubby rosy cheeks. She was fairly tall, or at least that’s what I thought since I was a miniature person back then. She wore a dress every day. We’d sit in a circle while she’d read us stories, and she’d allow the kids sitting in the front row to massage her legs through the panty hose she wore. It seemed perfectly normal then, but it’s actually kind of weird to look back on it.
Anyway, even my five year old self could pick up on the fact that Ms. S. had a crush on my dad. Whenever he would come pick me up, she always had to touch him or move her body really close to his. You’d think her having the hots for my dad would make me her favorite student. Not so! I’d venture to say Ms. S. was harder than me than on anyone else. She even told my mom some lies about my behavior that wound up getting me in trouble at home. I don’t recall the details, but I do know I didn’t do it. Ms. S. must’ve gotten me confused with another black girl in class, something I’d have to deal with the rest of my life.
I believe that was the year I decided that I hated milk, because Ms. S. would never let me leave the lunch table until I finished drinking that entire yucky glass of it. (I still despise milk, unless it’s in my cereal) In fact, my last conversation with her at my kindergarten graduation revolved around me needing to drink my milk. * Shrug *
It’s crazy all of the stuff you can remember in your dreams. I wonder what Ms. S is doing now. If she’s still teaching, I imagine they don’t allow all the lil kiddies sit around and touch her legs. Times have changed!
2 comments:
What's up with the weird massages in elementary school? When I was a kid we used to massage each others backs during story time. Freaky.
Speaking of massages (really, this has nothing to do with massages)...
Did you know there were webisodes of Battlestar Galactica up? Did you know that main characters are in these webisodes? If you did know this, why didn't you tell me?
I thought we were BSG-sisters for life!
And you think you know some people...
http://www.scifi.com/rewind/?sid=870861&eid=873302
back rubs? cool! at least i wasn't the only person in a touchy-feely schoool.
as far as the webisodes, i was familiar with them. but i only watched one and found it so confusing and weird, that i didn't want to watch it again, or recommend to anyone else. i imagine they've improved since then, so i'll be sure to check it out!
Can't wait for the new season. And my bet is on Gaeta as the final Cylon. *Curtsy*
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