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Okay, fair warning: this entry is really pissy, profane, and bitchy. Just letting you know now, in case you wanna go read something cheerful. So, today I'm blathering on at my 8th graders about some dumb English shit and I mention that Mrs. SoandSo at our school is a friend of mine. One of my kids blurts, in a shocked voice,"You have friends?" This probably doesn't strike you non-teachers as tragic or ironic, but I nearly wept. I do have friends. I have lovely friends. I never, ever get to see them unless someone gets married or dies. (Both of which have happened twice this year.) Well, okay, I get to see Blackbear, bless his big, sweet, furry hide, but that's about it. I know I bitch about this all the time, but my career has engulfed my life. I spend nearly every waking moment jumping through some damned hoop created by some fucking bureaucrat who makes forty times what I do, and thinks I don't do anything. In addition to teaching stuff to kids today, what did I do? I spent most of lunch on the phone with the parent of a seriously depressed student. I took ten minutes to bolt my lunch and pee. I broke up a fight and took the fucking goobers to the office, then called both mommas. I wrote up two of my kids for calling each other "dipshit" in class, and called their mommas. I looked up records in guidance for three kids being referred for special ed services and two being tested for giftedness, plus three I have conferences on in the next few days. I counseled my protege teacher when she came unglued. I graded essays, wrote lesson plans, and ran off stuff for tomorrow's class. I finally went home. After dinner, I graded, planned, etc. some more, while I watched TV.(My comments during Birds of Prey were, um, not very nice. Poor Dinah is now "BooBoo Tweety Fuck," and the Huntress has been labeled "Cricket" because of the way her leather pants squeak when her thighs rub together. I'm a bad lady.) My brain probably looks like a pork rind.I need a drink, and I don't drink! It's not even fuckin' Halloween, and I already scan the want ads wistfully, thinking how much I'd love to be a dockworker. I also wake up each day and peruse the paper, worried that the sniper in NoVa has taken out one of my friends. Who I never get to see. I'd love to get my hands on that guy. It'd be damn hard for him to pull the trigger after I've broken or dislocated all his fucking fingers. Grrrrr.Fuck. I need sleep. On the Headbone: that fucking "Bright and Shiny" ditty from Bubble Boy. Fuck! Reading:fucking nothing tonight. My fucking eyes are fucking shot. |
 
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The Fucking Entry