this rum'n'coke is for my babies

Listening to WWL on AM radio. Just me and the roomie and the farm in this little house in a quiet little Pensafuckingcola neighborhood. Getting anxious. Worried about people.

I forgot what this was like - this being outside your life and waiting for it to start again. Still obsessing over the fact that my roll book is at school. My kids.

My students from last year always ask me if I like my new 6th graders, ask if my new students give me a hard time like they did. Some of them say that they want to be back in my class and try to sneak in jokingly after lunch or between classes. Some of them whine at me when I'm on duty in the morning that they should have failed so they could stay with me. I, of course, can't play favorites. "They're alright," I say, "We're still getting used to each other." And that's true. And always the questions about whether I have my own children. When you tell kids that your students are your children, they don't really think you're serious.

I want to be snapping at my children on Wednesday morning. I want to give them their test on Friday. I don't want to be wondering what's going to happen to them scattered around the country, lost and outcast, with people who don't understand us.

I suppose sitting here holed up in this place thinking about it isn't going to do much good though. Just waiting. Just waiting.