Babble

I forgot to categorize it. Might mean something. Probably doesn’t.

Christmas Day

Say nice things, say nice things–umm…got the best of both worlds this year.  Cash that was sorely needed, and some really cool presents.  Hope got a ton of stuff and had a blast, but we also had an important discussion regarding Santa, and she agreed that it was okay if he didn’t leave her anything, […]

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One Day Only

At least, I hope it’s one day only.  For today, one day only, I barely care what they’re doing.  I just can’t focus enough to comprehend it. I…have a cold.  My brain is numb, and I wish my throat were.  I put my faith in my “power of positive thinking” friend, though that positive crap

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Last Day!!!

I admit it, I thought they were nuts, having grading day on a Monday.  I figured most people wouldn’t show up, so what was the point? Now I know.  I was right, hardly anyone showed up.  They so did not want to spend Monday at work, they got their crap done on Friday and most

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Seventeen

That’s how many kids I have to withdraw because they are moving or going to charter schools over the winter break.  Seventeen children starting over in a new school halfway through the year.  I hope, anyway.  At least three, I wonder if they will go to another school at all. Let’s see.  We’ve got one

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One More Week

I can make it.  One more week.  This time next Monday I’ll be home for two weeks, and I can breathe and think and try to figure out how to patch up the sinking ship that is my job.  Right now I’m sure there is no answer–but I’m going to have to find one. One

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Only if You’re Insane

House in good shape, food made, laundry done, child bathed–yeah, you could say I’m ready for the new week.  Only if you’re insane. I can’t believe this.  Here it is almost the end of the semester, and I still hate my job.  It’s horrid.  I spend all day running around in circles, I have less

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My New Favorite Poet

Not sure I had one before, but I have one now.  Sara Teasdale.  Check this out: What Do I Care? Sara Teasdale What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring, That my songs do not show me at all? For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a

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