I wrote in my journal
That I would embrace the absurd today.
Wanting the hours of work
Pass by quickly and painlessly.
It seemed that the best way to survive
The standardized test relocation
That is causing my students to lose their weight room
For nearly the entire month of May
Was to just accept my place
On accountabilities totem pole.
As the clock ticked on,
Students tolerated the final day of child birth,
The video, not an actual delivery,
Although my new focus on accepting the madness of daily life
Had me appreciating the humor brought
To the cinematic conveyance of the nine-ish month miracle
By kids who chimed in with sarcastic thoughts
About the roles of men and women in birthing room
And whether the baby would speak “whale” or not.
I thought for awhile of my trip to Pittsburgh,
An artistic awakening brought by one who may have been
The ultimate absurdist, Andy Warhol.
At a museum dedicated to him,
I developed a greater appreciation for pop-art
When I learned of the difficulties of his life
And saw all his medications on display,
That for some reason crossed the synapses of another sad installation,
As I connected memories of the shoes at the Holocaust museum,
With what I perceived as a medical misery for Mr. Warhol.
Both gave me feelings of helplessness and a weighty chest.
Why the two came together in my mind
Is hard to know.
Maybe it was the quantity of pill bottles and shoes.
No, it was much sadder than that.
Yet, these thoughts did not bring me down.
Instead, I tucked them away,
Holding them in reserve until I needed them again.
There is a reason for this mental collision
And it will reveal itself when the time is right.
Several classes took part in a volleyball revival
Playing for the sheer enjoyment
That recreation can bring to a weary school brain
By kids who are pulled like taffy
To achieve at levels their parents cannot understand,
But who still demand the conditional and evolving academic rigor.
These teens were doing what they do best, playing,
In a gym that required a fleece jacket
To prevent the condensed Arctic blast
Coming from the chilling units
From turning us into frozen relics
To be thawed in the next educational archaeological excavation.
Somehow, the athletes hit balls that stuck between the conduit and the ceiling,
Which, on a normal day, might have been something to cause
A less than positive reaction from me,
But today the frustration would not be.
The day was filled with ridiculous conversations with colleagues
That subconsciously were influenced by our cumulative years of Seinfeld devotion
And often footnoted with direct references to the nearly memorized scenes.
We joked of new friends in terry cloth, assistants to help organize, and
Lost cufflinks in pet cemeteries.
Lunch was never so hard to keep down as it was with our
Comedic amateur half hour.
Throughout the contractual time
Nothing seemed to matter nor too absurd to enjoy.
Perhaps that was what I embraced.