Friday, May 27, 2011

Sweet fancy pancakes...

Bwahaha, so much for making myself write a lil somethin' every week! I has failed at blog.  Oh well. No one reads it anyway.  Suck it!

I have only 2 more weeks of client work.  I don't want to say any more than that because hell might break loose again.  Hell has broken enough already. Dead teacher.  Inspection (code for "county funds controllers all up in our bidness.)  Another dead teacher.  Failed apocalypse.  Parent punching kid. New last-minute groups. Parent slapping kid.  Dead parent.  Fight.  Beer.  Cheese.  Laughs.

Got home tonight to find the fridge full of pizza, beer beans? What the hell goes on when I'm not here?  CANNED green beans?  Oh, the humanity...

The squirrels and birds are enjoying my butterfly garden.  I hate wildlife. Shit can't even make flowers, they are eating everything.

Voluntary work on a Saturday (holiday weekend, no less.)  Bring it.

This is the most disjointed thing I've ever written.  I should stop now.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Feeling a little sorry for myself.

I am tired.  Bone-numbingly tired.  Things that are not funny are starting to crack me up.  Shopping at Wegmans, looking at crackers.  "Stoned Wheat Crackers!"  Hilarious!  I have the humor of a 15 year old boy! Woohoo!

Wondering why allergies have to be a part of life?  And why I had to draw the short straw on this one?  The human body is not meant to be so reactive to everything.  The past 2 weeks I've been so ungodly itchy.  My skin, my nose, my throat, my eyes...oh dear lord, the itchy, swollen, red eyes...waking up at all hours of the night.  Not having had a solid night's sleep in weeks.  Taking so many antihistamines that I am a walking warning about sedative abuse. 

FYI:  Trying to walk through the house in the dark after Benadryl can and will lead to you walking full speed into a door frame.  You'll think you broke your nose, but no such luck.  You'll just have a little round bruise for a week that doesn't look like a bruise, it looks like dirt.  So now you will be walking around, pale and pasty, looking like you're high, with bright red swollen eyes, sniffing and sneezing, and to top it off, you look dirty.

I've never been so uncomfortable in my life.  I feel like I'm not fit to be looked upon, and I have to keep checking myself to make sure I'm making sense.  I'm just so damn tired. I hate being such a complaint-bringer but I really do not have anything positive to say to anyone, about anything.  I just want to crawl into a hole and die. 

But being as how I'm so allergic to stupid grass, I'm not even looking forward to that.

Le sigh.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

I've been neglecting thee, little blog baby.

I'm so terribly sorry.  I deeply apologize to the zero people who read this.

I really, really think that being in 6th grade is a mental disorder.  It should be in the DSM.  I can't even begin to think of the number of times this year the 6th graders alone have made me question my sanity.  I mean, people don't really act that way.  I must be hallucinating.  That's it. 

The idea of a potential hallucination is more comforting than the actual witnessing of a child doing a damn backflip in the middle of my social skills group.  Kids don't really do that, right?  They don't just stand up when someone is talking, flop on the floor, then when that someone instructs them to get up, they don't flip themselves in the air, right?  Right?

They also don't keep their baby teeth in a little plastic treasure chest in their locker for the better part of a year...then get disgruntled when they are instructed to THROW IT OUT, leading them to argue that the tiny treasure chest can be used to store gum while they are eating, right?  I should never have to utter the words, "You are NOT going to store your ABC gum in a tooth box."

I shouldn't have to ask kids to keep the farting to a minimum.  Nor should I have to explain that the "No Interrupting" rule does not apply to me when a kid is talking out of turn, and I have to ask him to be quiet so I can get through the rest of my lesson.  Or ask them to keep their voices down so people walking down the hall past my room don't hear the mosquito-sized kid exclaiming, "SNITCHES GET STITCHES!"  And I certainly shouldn't have to then cut off a kid who is trying to tell me about the time he got a result of the time he "busted a nut" at Boy Scout camp.

But I do.  I do have to do all these things.  They're getting stranger every day.

I'm a little concerned.