Work, matters?

It's an oddly carbonated, liberating feeling to be written off completely by your work.

I've met my replacement- almost ten years my junior, 1/3 of my size and so fresh there's cream practically rising from the air around her. I love the unsubtle fact that my supervisory staff feel there is something to mold and impress and create in their own image with that petite being. That dainty being, who stood in the middle of my classroom at thirty minutes before Bus Time on a Friday, with the classroom understaffed by two and a child sobbing into my waist, and offered to show them a Power Point presentation.

That dainty being, who stood in the middle of my room, and saw nothing.

One woman, the one we've conjectured has a deep seated thwarted longing for me, practically scuttled out of the room in joy when I asked her if she had met the new teacher. She spent the rest of the day holed up, doubtless sending emails about the bright potential of the classroom now that my intractable self is going to another country. They see absolutely no correlation between the fact I've been the only teacher in that room to stay longer than 5 months, and that I don't give a rat's wet tailpipe what they think.

Which means, I actually succeeded.

"And the raven never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting..." Yes, you guessed it. Our hero is still angry. And staring. And stomping. Sometimes, when I've got the two biggest B. A.'s in the room sobbing on each hip, I get the feeling he's about to make a third. Then I think of the three of them smacking each other, and I have to stop.

A sense of humor kills it, I think. Take P__, my Prince from Polish School who Proposed in the Parking Lot. (At least, there were no Beer Nuts involved this time.) He's struggling with his English and my (absolute) refusal, and Pan Dyrektor is in the doorway, waving like he's landing aircraft, shouting "YOU'RE LATE! IT"S TIME TO TEACH YOUR CLASS!"

Like I told P.D. later, "I'm not terribly romantic or anything, but..."

Yes. So, back to our hero. You must understand, small creatures with soft noses and bows in their tails are quite sacred to me. And I have this peculiar eyesight for spotting them in the most unlikely forms. Despite his burly and forbidding outward appearance, he is indeed sporting a bow and soft velvet nose. Which I have somehow bruised and mutilated. Cruelly! Apologies aren't enough! How could I?! Just leave?!

(more baleful glaring)

"Zorowaś Marja łaskiś pełna..."

I know I must appear as unfeeling and obtuse as roadside gravel. It's very difficult for me to watch this, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. I've had my tears, so now I'm having a bit of a giggle. So much happiness to be had for the asking...