It’s Only 9:49: a ramble

Does it matter that it’s only 9:49 and already I have had to deal with a disgruntled parent, a tantrum throwing seven year old, a dog wearing a sweater, a bag of ice melted on my counter, more repeating than I should ever have to do, more repeating than I ever want to do, and more repeating?

Should I call it a day? Should I throw in the towel? Should I call it belly up? Should I look into new cliches?

Sometimes I feel like someone or something has laid eggs in my brain and is trying to control me. But I’m taking a stand. I’m going to choose a happy attitude even if I have to force slow talking v hyper reactions and plaster a fake smile on my face v a snarl.

I might also choose a nap. First I have to educate young minds. It’s literature test day. Real literature, real essays, and real thinking. DEEP. I’m not talking Proust or anything, but I want real thoughts.

Speaking of Proust, does anyone ever know if that guy actually FOUND the lost time? I’d like mine back. You know what I mean? The repeating and the repeating. And repeating.

Makes me think of a joke.

Pete and repeat got in a boat. Pete fell out. Who is left?

Don’t make me do this.

“Love is a reciprocal torture” ~Marcel Proust

Let’s have it.