What's In My Head

I really should be typing up my entry for Diva's writing contest. It is still in my head, rattling around amongst the math and the big crock labeled 'Alzheimer's' and the dreams where I went on a Sunday drive with Kendra of The Girls Next Door because I needed cheering up and I simply adored her laugh, and the other one where I was assigned to make a table centerpiece for one of my colleagues who was giving a banquet speech, but another colleague stole all the white lilies in the world, and when I went back to check on the ones I was saving, they had turned into stubs of cauliflower florets.

My head is spinning. Even without the story and the dreams and that mysterious crock, I can not get a thought for myself. The students must tell me the most inane trivia every day. Though I am a fan of Trivia, I can do without the trivia. It doesn't matter if the lesson has been presented and they are supposed to be working. It doesn't matter if I am in the hall supervising. They take any silence in the room to mean: free-for-all with Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's attention. Here's a tenth of what I heard, just today.

Igotanewpuppylastnight
mydadtradedhistruckforanothertruck
IwasabsentyesterdaybecauseIhadtoputanewmotorinmysisterscar
didyouhearthatboyslappedmeinthefacebymylocker
mycousinranintoapoletryingtocatchafootball
Imetagirlontheinternetfromnewyorkandshewantstomoveinwithme
Iwontevenusemyneighborstoilet
mybrothergaveagirlsomethingandherdadcalledtosayhesgoingtobeatupmydad
igotaturkeyitwasabigone
iwaspunchingthepunchingbaglastnightandhitmyhandonthedoorframe
whydonttheyletusplaybasketballinthegymanymoretherestenteachersintherejusttalking
todayslunchwasgooditwaslikeapplepiefillingwithgranolaalloverit
whydonttheyletushavepiercingsImgoingtowearmineanywayandseewhattheydo
someonesaidtheysawmybrotherdriving70milesanhourwhodoyouthinkdidthat
doesoneofthosecomputersplaydvdscauseIhaveoneherethatwecouldwatch
whattimedowegetoutofhere
arethereextrachairsinhereitlooksliketoomanytome
howmanydaysareinmayhowmanydaysofschoolareleftcanIwriteitontheboard
canIborrowyourtapecanIgetarulercanIhaveapieceofthatpaperdoyouhaveanymorefolders
doyouhaveanypencilstosellthemechanicalonesIhatethewoodpencils
doyouhaveany5-0leadIranoutandIdonthaveanotherpencil
rememberwhenthatgirlwantedtofightherandshebackeddownandshewasoncrutches
whatishesayingIwasNOTgoingtohitagirlwhileIwasoncrutchesthatwouldhurthertoobad
whywouldyouexpecthertofightanywayDUHshewasoncrutches

And so it goes. My head is too full. I need a thought-leech to drain out some of the thinks up in there, methinks. Why, oh why, won't their parents give them some attention so I can concentrate on the learnin', not the building of self-esteem?

The school year is almost over, by cracky!