Living too hard and whirling too fast

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The part that’s really nuts: Because of the gun threat, I get to leave on time, which almost never happens. I’m really happy, too, since this means I will have enough time to do all my homework for my continuing education class and still get my sleep. When your response to a gun threat is to be grateful for a free afternoon and evening to read and write about linguistics so you can make a 6-something train to a four-hour, Saturday class, you’re living too damn hard.

For that matter, I scared the lunch ladies for sure last week. I was down in the cafeteria trying to fix the lunch tickets. Almost every kid I have gets free breakfast and lunch, but their paperwork is often screwed up. For one thing, many of the bilingual students’ parents can’t read the paperwork — in English or Spanish — and the illegals don’t want to fill out paperwork sometimes, even if they can read it. So I am in the lunchroom and I can’t do what I need to do. I whirl around in indignation to stalk back to the classroom.

I whirled too fast. It had been too hot in this school with no air-conditioning. The next thing I know, I am sliding down a convenient wall, breaking my fall. The lunch lady runs to the nurse. The security lady hugs me and tells me about Jesus. My assistant principal arrives and HE hugs me, telling me that I can have a mental health day if I need one. Lots of fuss and commotion over this near faint.

Bless the security guard. There wasn’t much I could do except hand the situation to Jesus. It was sure out of my control.

I am living too hard.