2-8-00 Tu 1:25 PM
I'm at Wilshire Hill.  Today has sucked.  The kids suck.  They don't listen.  I'm a shitty teacher.  I don't want to do this anymore.  What else can I do?  I need more money.  I want to move to Wyoming. Maybe I can teach literature at the University of Wyoming.  There must be some kind of job I can do that doesn't suck the life right out of me.  Whatever.  I typed a third-person page this morning.  It sucked.  Rochelle was home with a tummy ache.  I rode my bike to school after I picked up a newspaper.  Tiger Woods had a phenomenal comeback from seven strokes behind with seven holes to play to win the Pebble Beach ProAm and run his PGA winning streak to six consecutive tournaments, tying Ben Hogan for second.  We played predicate listening game.  The results were abysmal.  These kids suck.  I made them stay in at recess.  I had to stay in with them.  We tried to correct our math work, but they were fucking around, so I made them put their heads down.  I made the four biggest fuckheads put their noses in the corners of the room.  They're in at lunch for twenty minutes.  I walked over to Taco Hell, but I didn't have any money.  Just as well.  I got a bag of butter toffee Cracker Jacks instead.  Went to Colbert's office to get the sample tasks that I need to copy for third grade's Standards-Based Assessment test.  I had had my own copies, but I accidentally made one-sided copies when I needed to make two-sided, then when I went to throw away the worthless one-sided copies, I accidentally threw away the two-sided originals I needed.  So, I had to raid Mrs. Colbert's office.  I have to go the instructional team meeting after school today.  Lucky me.  I just sent Walter to the office for throwing a Crayon at Yahaira.  I wanted to throw something at her, too.  Maybe a stapler.  They all had to put their heads down again for fucking around during social studies.  The four biggest fuckheads are in the corners again.  They're always the same four.