Running for Home - 5. August 16, 2021

August 16, 2021


Emma Frost called today. Apparently Xavier’s needs someone to teach English Lit and Writer’s Craft to the seniors. And they fucking thought of me.

What. The. Fuck.

Sure, I’ve been a government-certified ‘good citizen’ for about seven years now, but still… Do they not remember the days when I ran with the Brotherhood and tried to fry them? Ugh. Whatever.

Do you know what’s worse? I called her back an hour later and told her I’d do it. I’d be a fucking idiot to turn down a ninety-five grand to teach three classes a day for ten months. Who the fuck offers someone that much to teach? They must be desperate. Christ, I can’t believe this. Me, making almost six figures and teaching at Xavier’s for fuck’s sake! This is unreal, and I just know I’m going to fucking regret it.

If I’m being honest, though, I’ll admit that I need a change. A radical change. I need to get away from here. This teaching gig might be a (not so great) starting point, but at least it will get me out of L.A. Part of me misses actually having a real winter, snow and all. That’s perhaps a bit paradoxical coming from a firebug like me, but it’s the truth. I was a Michigander in my childhood, and an Upstate New Yorker during my teens. I’m used to having four months of snow and sleet and ice. Really, I got used to having that shit all year round at the School. Sorta kinda. With him. But I’m not going to think about that, not right now. Not ever. Fuck it.

I’m not sure if the east coast is going to be the right place for me. The midwest sure as hell isn’t. Too traditionalist, old-fashioned. The south? Fuck no. Too closed minded, too bigoted and too fucking humid. I’ve thought about the pacific northwest, but it’s so rainy… Goddamn it, this is me we’re talking about. I’ll find a way to be fucking miserable no matter where I go. At least at Xavier’s I’ll have an excuse for my misery, and people to take it out on. Hah, ‘cause that’s gonna help me not get fired.

Maybe the reality is that I was never destined to have a home, never one that would last longer than a few years at most. Do I have some traces of a heritage from some nomadic peoples, or something? Do I have Romani blood in my veins? Bedouin? Native American? Nah, let's be honest - I’m just the result of a bottom feeder breeding a purdy foreigner and then letting some bad luck turn them both into trailer trash. I've spent most of my life hating them, telling myself that I'm better than them. But really? It all leads back to that. I’m a worthless piece of trailer trash, just like them, but I'm using a lot of smoke and mirrors to hide away my rotten, bankrupt core. They say ‘fake it until you make it,’ but there are some things that you just can’t fake. How long will it take those idiots at Xavier’s to see me for who I really am, deep down?

Should I even give a fuck?