No more complaining. Absolutely none. I'm just
describing. Giving you a vision of my reality. It's what I do.
- I am wearing a large Icy Hot patch around my neck in hopes that I will again, at some sweet spot in the future, be able to look to the right. I smell refreshingly decrepit. On my hobble to the CVS, I came across a very colorful person yelling "Max that shit out, Judas" to a doormat.
- Today I asked a student named Anneke to tell me something interesting about herself. She told me her name was just like Hanukkah, but without the H, though she did concede that she had no idea how Hanukkah was spelled.
- I learned in Diversity Training that being left handed in a right-handed world is really similar to struggling through generations of persecution and oppression. Neat-o.
- I have made my peace with the Keurig. I am enamored of the german chocolate K-cups, one mini moo and no sugar.
- Come late September, I will be spending three days away from n.o.c. and my pristine apartment, climbing ropes courses and participating in "bonding activities" with dear, sweetsome ninth graders.
See? Nary a complaint. Like a true Southern woman, I will suffer uncomplainingly. Then I will hack someone to pieces and fry them like chicken.
2 comments:
dude- if the complaining keeps you from hacking someone up like chicken well, maybe you should rethink this.
you could also 'cue 'em, "fried green tomatoes"-style.
i love your complaining. bring it. where would we be without david sedaris and his self-deprecation and loathing? the squeaky wheel gets the grease, right?
*not only did i have a diary full of inane banalities, but i met a very young ryan adams (if you know who he is) when i was 15 and we began a 1-year correspondence that i can only now imagine contains more cringe-worthy drivel (on my end) than one should be permitted to spew in their lifetime.
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