Funny how the day slips away even though I’ve been telling myself, “This is my night,” since I walked underground to go to work this morning. I had a meeting after school and then I waited and waited for a bus. I decided to take the subway that would force me to go out of the way instead. I stood, holding onto the dirty silver bar like a baton. I noticed a graduate of I.S. 666 on the train. He didn’t notice me. I overheard him talking about the first time he smoked pot. He’s just started ninth grade and maybe I seem really Pollyanna about this, but geez, too soon! He’s already on edge, because he’s fourteen. The child doesn’t need drugs, too.
Then I called parents to let them know that on second thought, the kids shouldn’t bring any money for the field trip to the Museum of Natural History tomorrow. They will not be going to the gift shop or any hot dog carts. They will not be paid back by me if they somehow misplace twenty bucks. “Bring bagged lunches, comfy clothes, and good attitudes tomorrow,” I yelled as they left. I have a group of eight little darlings, and I believe things may be just fine.
So here’s my night. My night to read and read until I fall asleep and eat foods that require the profuse licking of fingers and relax so much that I will regret it when the alarm goes off in the morning and I remember that it’s only Friday.
My night to feel like there’s suddenly something to write, but not much to write about. So much to say, but no real desire to say it right now. I’m sitting and doing nothing while my drumming heart sustains me. My lungs hum like an air conditioner. Neurons race and hurdle from my brain to every imaginable part. It’s simply complicated, my night.
lovely blog … lovely posts … am from kenya … with love