Tu 9-25-01 6:44 PM

LA High. Whatever. I typed fifteen minutes not long ago. Not a lot worth writing has happened since. Rochelle packed Ada into a papoose on her chest and took the dog for a walk. I videotaped them, full of love. Sent Senorita Villa the names of my kids so we can do pen pals.  Voluptuous Dawn Diore left a note for me at school. My dick twitches. I’m wanting to… I read thinking, “Yeah?! Yeah!?” …read for your class. MY class. Call me and her phone number. Gah! She doesn’t know that I’m married with child now. Sigh.  I learned that synagogue is a Greek word. We had a useless, boring meeting after school today.  It was picture day. I hadn’t sent home the envelopes, so my whole class will have to wait for make-up day, confirming suspicions that I am not a good teacher. The principal came in while I was writing my lesson plan for the week. She asked if it was part of our state-mandated reading program. I should’ve lied and said yes, but I said, “No. They’re working on their written expression, practicing personal narratives. I have them write about their weekends as soon as they come in, as a warmup.” She smiled falsely, condemningly, lips together, shaking her head. I wanted to push her face. “Psch,” I pushed air through my teeth and lips. Another fucking bureaucratic mouthpiece. “All right,” I hollered. “Put your journals away!” She crept at of the room while I sneered at the children. “We’re not supposed to write in our journals…” I was steamed the rest of the day. Third grade’s test scores were the best in the school again. We met our performance goals. Why do these little tinpot dictators with their wannabe superiority complexes get to come in and shake her head and smile condescendingly at me. Principals are like highway patrolmen: you wouldn’t want to be one unless you were already a prick. Whatever. I spend the rest of the morning sounding out p-a-t, pat; p-a-s-t, past; l-a-s-t, last; l-i-s-t, list. Those four words, over and over all morning. Fucking brilliant. After recess, I failed to get the little dunces to say numbers to the thousands correctly. I’ve got to see a recruiter.