that's it, I f-ing quit

Motherf.......atherSisterBrother! (As one of my students likes to say.)

****

I started the above post several days ago, upon my most inauspicious return to work. Now I can't remember exactly what prompted the proclamation; it could have been any number of things, from realizing that I have spent almost $10,000 to become "certified" in a profession I'm not at all sure I enjoy or am good at doing, to the invasion of ants that makes me explode with rage against nature several times a day. I'd rather be a vendor of certified organic produce some days. I'm definitely certified something, if you get my drift. Yuk, yuk.

Anywho, my desire to be a kept housewife has never been stronger. But the days are occasionally enlivened by the unintentional irony uttered from the mouths of (sixteen-year-old) babes.

Stude: Fuck, I'm so pissed! Fucking v.p. stay making me take Anger Management. I don't fucking need Anger Management, I'm like the coolest, laid-back guy brah! (beat.) Ass why I wen punch the wall, and now my hand stay all fucked up.

Today, after being given the third essay assignment of the year: Why the hell are doing so much writing? This is an ENGLISH class. (Spoken very slowly for the benefit of me, the dim-witted, writing-obsessed teacher.)