Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Eh, Chief?


Oh man, these last two days.

The gym at 4:30 AM is a beautiful, safe, happy thing; if you can get into bed no later than fifteen past eight that same night it feels like a check in the awesome column.

But if you're, say, up late because you drove off after work to look at a car in a faraway land and you have to drive said car home for two hours without falling asleep on the road, you might begin to curse the hour at which you rose.  A bit.

And then if they next day you realize that you haven't figured out the perfect seating chart for your forty freshmen yet (is there such a thing?), you might begin to feel a slight sense of frustration at the your inability to get this monkeybusiness under control.  You might lose your voice before you lose your shit, but it's neck-and-neck for a while.  You might feel like you just want to lay down on the cat-pee scented classroom carpet and die.

But you won't.

You'll keep going until you can pack up for the day.  But then if you're walking, jubilant, to the parking lot when you remember that your day's not really over, you might want to kick your feet against the portables and have a tantrum.

You'll hold it together because that's what big girls do.

You'll MacGyver your patience back together for two more hours because you get to be with nice kids at practice.  And that's what you want, right?


But you might have to skip cooking or salad in favor of a cheeseburger.  Your third of the day.  You might ask people not to judge you.

You might need to come home and watch Deadwood so Al Swearengen can give voice to your sentiments.

You might pass out before he shows up onscreen.

The end.

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