it's the mother fucking weekend:

Can I get an Amen?

no hope, no harm.

I think too much. Turn my brain oofffff.

thoroughly depressing.

I just bought a can of blackeyed peas for dinner . . . with change.

I've said it before; I'll say it again: I hate money.





EDIT:

If I tell you I want to get off the phone and/or don't feel like talking (to anyone) at the moment, please just say your goodbyes and hang up.

I'm stressed. I'm frustrated. I need would like a partner in crime who cuddles and hold hands sometimes. Especially on Wednesdays and Fridays.




Get me outta here.

seriously?

I just wanted to go on record as stating that this is the worst season of Project Runway, ever.

EVER.

Ugh. Give me back Kelli, you idiots. Or--better yet--Jeffrey Sebelia. And tell Suede Suede can fuck Suede in Suede's ass.




Dasjbfhu8fyvibf.

it's nights like these . . .

Let me preface this entry by explaining that in real life, I'm a much more positive person than this blog would lead one to believe. I swear. I guess I save all the venting for paper . . . of the electronic variety? Anyway.

Right this minute, my head is packed full of a million unorganized thoughts and twice as many second guesses.

I understand that everything in life works in some kind of equilibrium; that the good comes with the bad. But goddamn. Can I catch a break? Just gimme a couple more good circumstances than bad. This one time.

More than once in the last few weeks I've been confronted with a serious case of doubt about teaching. Not self-doubt, exactly. Because I do think I'm fully capable . . . of teaching successfully, that is. Withstanding and overcoming the bureaucracy, the politics, the stress and exhaustion that accompany this profession is an entirely different story, however. And that story is totally fucking with my head.

Do I think I can deal with those kinds of issues? Yes. I've made it through some intense junk before now. Do I want to deal with those kinds of issues everyday for the next 10, 20, 30 years? That's where I'm not sure.

Of course, when I bring these questions up to other people--particularly close friends and family--I get the same answer every time: This is what you're made for. This is why you're here. Everyone around you knows that.

I don't know that.

Don't get me wrong, either: when I say I love my job, I mean it. The kids are incredible. It's not them; it never was.

Hmph. I don't want to get into all the other garbage that's currently getting me down. I hate money, though. And the more I think about what paper currency actually is, the closer my brains come to exploding out of my earholes/eyeholes/noseholes.

Blegh. Oh, well. Bedtiiiime. My favorite!

weird.

Weird.

furious.

I glanced at my paycheck from Fulton County Schools this morning only to find that in big, bold writing in the bottom right-hand corner it reads:

NON-NEGOTIABLE

DIRECT DEPOSIT

Which would be fine--fantastic, even--if I'd given Payroll ANY banking information when I received my contract.

See, I know I didn't because I wasn't sure if I'd be banking with the Fulton Teachers' Credit Union or if I'd just stick with Georgia Power Federal Credit Union, where the rest of my family has accounts. I didn't want to give them any direct deposit info because I was afraid I'd have to change it again in a couple months.

This means that my paycheck--the paycheck I really need to pay rent and car insurance, like, LAST WEEK--was just deposited into . . . nowhere. Into the fucking Universe.

Good. Great. Grand.

Anything else??