The night before the Library was left, neat and tidy; the chairs under the table. All as it should be.
I’m back! I’m so back that I am feeling mean, and tomorrow I may just bite a few heads off people who have crossed me in recent days. Bugger the stick list and waiting for the last day, I am going for the throat. No one is going to mess with me, EVER AGAIN.
I am going to make coffee nervous.
Excuse me, but I have the rather urgent need to vent.
People who do a five minute walk through tour and then make snap decisions, should be snapped in half themselves and their pieces scattered on a motorway.
May all those self-indulgent parents who told their child that they were wonderful for merely drawing breath; and may all those parents who don’t give a shit about their feral children and never taught them any values or manners, may you all rot in hell before coming back as a teacher in your next life, if there is one and get to teach your kid; otherwise just burn in hell. Twice.
“Don’t leave your bag in the doorway”
“Because someone will trip over it.”
“It’s not my fault if they are stupid enough to fall over it.”
Treat others as you would like to be treated, or I will surely break your arms and legs off.
Argue about the literal meaning of a proverb over the metaphor one more time and I will ram your arms and legs where the sun don’t shine and post you home to mother.
Why should class be fun? Why can’t you just pay attention for 40 minutes and learn something for once in your damn life.
Can I put up an Easter reading suggestion display with the slogan “Don’t be a wasted space, read a book for once”?
May the subject coordinators who create dodgy lesson plans for teachers to present, be locked into an eternal Groundhog Day of teaching that lesson. May you be eaten alive at the end of each day. No exit clause.
Would someone for f-ing sake build covered walkways between our classrooms so that we don’t end up with 152 sopping wet students in the library at lunch time.
Sometimes, sonny boy, you just don’t get to negotiate or argue every point, sometimes you just need to shut up and do.
Don’t give me the finger because you don’t know how to merge on the highway. I see your finger and raise it one as well.
Stop trying to rearrange the front of my car and attach my car to yours by changing into my lane without allowing enough space between our cars.
“Put your phone away”
“It’s my mum”
“Tell Mum that Mrs FD is trying to teach you right now.”
“But she wants to know ,,, whether to wash my blue blouse or my pink; where I left the remote; whether she can borrow some money…”
“Tell Mum to send a text that you can answer after class.”
Total disbelief as an expression from student who continues conversation with parent.
Enough with the rain already, we need to dry out.
I am a goddess why are my feet in the bloody trenches?
Whooo, I feel better now.
I was cranky earlier today, especially around lunch time when other people’s clutter in the library was making it impossible to function and Minerva kept complaining about it, but it has its own timeline and we just have to wait for it all to play out and then disappear. Then there was the teacher who crossed me by leaving a stack of folders in one of the public rooms when we told her she couldn’t and that really ANNOYED me, and she is person uno at the moment on the stick list (GOM, you are so far down the stick list now that you are practically off the list).
Then I walked in the door at home and picked on Mr FD for the first 10 minutes I was home, and I felt much better after that.
I put it all down to lack of chocolate (and I told Mr FD that he had better produce some tomorrow if he doesn’t want to be traded away; and it has nothing to do with Valentine’s Day which is just a silly commercial enterprise to make a lot of women unhappy, but because Mr FD has the time to go to the stores) and the fact that my grandchild to be has yet to make an appearance, not that she is due until Saturday, but I am always early for all my appointments and so should she (obviously she takes after her mother, Daughter1 who is always late, though she was early for her own birth!)
It was Ash Wednesday today and class teachers had to put the ashes on the foreheads of all the students. As a form teacher, despite being somewhat a lapsed Catholic I did the job and ashed all my class and a few other students who couldn’t get through the seated crowd to get to their class teacher. I was quite into the swing of it by the end, and it soon became obvious that I am called to a higher post, and so, yes, as you no doubt expected, I am going to offer myself as the next Pope.
Pope Flamingo Dancer, has quite the ring to it don’t you think ( the papal ring, hahahaha) ? I am a Goddess, so yes, Pope is a bit of a step down, but one must do ones bit for the common people. I will allow women to be priests, I will allow all male priests to marry, and I will allow all women, especially those in poor countries to use contraception. I shall encourage contraception. And then on the second day…
Don’t you just love the way The Pope formerly known as Benedict turfed a group of cloistered nuns out of their convent to take over their pad? Last papal decree indeed.
And just because I am feeling eclectic tonight… Yesterday I passed some old men sitting on benches outside the Village post office. When I was a small child there used to be an outdoor set of draughts for locals to play, but they have long sense disappeared, no doubt stolen along with our respect, gratitude and enjoyment for such things; but that is a rant for another day.
So I was driving to work and the old men were sitting gossiping on the bench under the trees. I was filled with warm and fuzzy memories and felt like I was living a Norman Rockwell moment.
This morning I drove by and only one old man was sitting on the bench. He was chatting on his mobile phone. Even Norman Rockwell has moved with the times.
I’m sorry I try to be nice, I really do, but today I just wanted to beat people to death with my stick. I am tired of hearing people tell students how great they are when they are little buggers and will never learn to lift their behaviour because we are always telling them how great the are.
I also wanted to beat people for their inconsiderate and selfish behaviour towards other people. I wanted to beat them for being lazy and for how when you give them an inch they take the entire continent.
I wanted to beat my students because they are lazy and expect an instant free ride and for someone else to do the work for them. I wanted to beat them because they are always negative and I told them that it is easy to be negative and that being negative is cheap entertainment and if we all did that no one would ever get out of bed and then where we would all be?
I wanted to beat management with my stick because they won’t give up on an unworkable idea that is both insulting and just plain stupid and will cause me both inconvenience and an increased workload until they realise that no one is going to take up the stupid idea they are wasting time on when there are more important things to fix like the behaviour of kids who think they are perfect when they are really little lazy spawn.
And I wanted to hit the Big Whatever because it is only Monday and it was a shit Monday and I have to go back and do Tuesday and why can’t some old dusty relative somewhere cark it and leave me like a gizzillion dollars so I could just sit in my House on the Hill and buy my groceries online and never go out into the nasty world unless I chose, and then only very occasionally.
I swear, just stay out of my way, or you will be seeing some stick action.
You know that it is not going to be a great day when one of the first things you say to your husband is, “If I could go back in time, I would go to England and stop your father boarding the boat for Australia”.
[as in, Mr FD’s father was a ten pound pom and fresh from his arrival in Australia he met MIL and Mr FD was born 9 months after they were married.]
Mr FD had a little “disagreement” on the road a few days ago. He indicated and changed lanes only to be drowned in abuse from a motorcyclist following behind. Mr FD may have just replied in kind, adding “didn’t you see the blinker, mate?” Mr FD was most outraged.
Appears the motorcyclist didn’t see the indicator when Mr FD wanted to change lanes. He couldn’t, as the fuse had blown and the indicator was not working. We only found out today when I came out of an interview (yes interview 935) and the car battery had gone dead.
Mr FD had been waiting for me in the car park and due to the heat had run the air conditioning a little – and left the lights on. The RACQ (auto club) came to the rescue and in conversation we discovered the problem!
There in lies the lesson. Don’t go anywhere with Mr FD, unless one desires drama.
[The mechanical and technical details may be utterly and entirely incorrect, but it is a truthful retelling of the series of events. All blame allocated to Mr FD].