nada
Tu 7-29 10:45 AM
I left my book of essays in the car. I'll get it at lunch. Most of the class is at recess, but some kids are in here playing checkers, Battleship, and Perquackey. After lunch, we'll correct the math homework and introduce the next lesson. At lunch, I'll nuke my chicken and read my essay. After lunch, we'll work on our drawings. Then we'll play basketball. After school I have an appointment at the DMV to get my driver's license. That will cost at least a hundred bucks. Fuckers. When I get home, I'll eat an apple. I have to buy some fresh chicken for tomorrow night's dinner. I'll do my page of third person before class. After class, one hour with Jim. Ugh. I have to check my e-mail before class, too. Urg. Bed by eleven. Read that Wallace Stevens. Now what? The bell rang. I have to bring the kids up from the playground. Maybe if I wait long enough, Mr. Tuboko will figure to bring them up. I'm hungry. I had a bowl of cereal for breakfast and peach orange mango juice with a vitamin for dinner last night. I ate a plum, a grilled parmesan and garlic cheese sandwich, a few dates, a few peanuts, and a couple little chocolate chip cookies. I picked up my asthma medicine and a couple C batteries from Payless yesterday. You hear the hum of the air conditioner. Here are the kids now. Sounds like a jungle in here now. I'll write more after math. Aftermath. Hopefully I'll think of something by then. Kids don't listen. Ugh. What else? In the cancer story I read yesterday, the narrator talked often of Schopenhauer. Later that day he was a featured name in "Antonia's Line." The character, Crooked Finger, who believed in Schopenhauer, hanged himself. I got a basic idea of his philosophy from those two works. I am in denial enough to believe that joy occurs on occasion, that hope is a necessity, but neutrality can be miserable. Who can think? It's lunch time.
Now I'm in the teacher's lounge. The microwave hums on my chicken in peanut sauce. The TA's babble in Spanish. There's a payphone, a coke machine, a drinking fountain, fake plants with fake roses in wicker baskets on laminated doilies at each table, salt and pepper shakers, napkin dispenser, half pint carton of apple juice, scrape of chair on floor. Handwritten cafeteria menu. Ugh.
I left my book of essays in the car. I'll get it at lunch. Most of the class is at recess, but some kids are in here playing checkers, Battleship, and Perquackey. After lunch, we'll correct the math homework and introduce the next lesson. At lunch, I'll nuke my chicken and read my essay. After lunch, we'll work on our drawings. Then we'll play basketball. After school I have an appointment at the DMV to get my driver's license. That will cost at least a hundred bucks. Fuckers. When I get home, I'll eat an apple. I have to buy some fresh chicken for tomorrow night's dinner. I'll do my page of third person before class. After class, one hour with Jim. Ugh. I have to check my e-mail before class, too. Urg. Bed by eleven. Read that Wallace Stevens. Now what? The bell rang. I have to bring the kids up from the playground. Maybe if I wait long enough, Mr. Tuboko will figure to bring them up. I'm hungry. I had a bowl of cereal for breakfast and peach orange mango juice with a vitamin for dinner last night. I ate a plum, a grilled parmesan and garlic cheese sandwich, a few dates, a few peanuts, and a couple little chocolate chip cookies. I picked up my asthma medicine and a couple C batteries from Payless yesterday. You hear the hum of the air conditioner. Here are the kids now. Sounds like a jungle in here now. I'll write more after math. Aftermath. Hopefully I'll think of something by then. Kids don't listen. Ugh. What else? In the cancer story I read yesterday, the narrator talked often of Schopenhauer. Later that day he was a featured name in "Antonia's Line." The character, Crooked Finger, who believed in Schopenhauer, hanged himself. I got a basic idea of his philosophy from those two works. I am in denial enough to believe that joy occurs on occasion, that hope is a necessity, but neutrality can be miserable. Who can think? It's lunch time.
Now I'm in the teacher's lounge. The microwave hums on my chicken in peanut sauce. The TA's babble in Spanish. There's a payphone, a coke machine, a drinking fountain, fake plants with fake roses in wicker baskets on laminated doilies at each table, salt and pepper shakers, napkin dispenser, half pint carton of apple juice, scrape of chair on floor. Handwritten cafeteria menu. Ugh.
posted by johnz at 2:47 PM
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