Dear Darl, it’s February 28, 2012

729 days….

The death march has started.

I can feel myself slipping down into the black hole.

I’d be there now except for the fact that I am currently so red-hot angry that I’m genuinely surprised I haven’t spontaneously combusted already.

You see, I tried to be kind to myself…..

Psych myself into this week with some nice relaxing things.

A bit of pampering to balance the pain.

But that always backfires.

 

I had today off (I don’t work on Tuesdays) so I thought I'[d treat myself to a haircut.  You know – a proper one at the hairdressers.  Problem was, my regular hairdresser was running late so her partner (sister) did it.  TWO FREAKING HOURS of her telling me that her angel child was ruined by teachers who are all horrible (me included it seems).  (BTW – your angel child is a nasty little work-avoiding, shit-stirring,  bugger of a kid who is not the angel you think he is).

After a while I tried just tuning her out as she was on for the rant of the century.

Meanwhile, my regular hairdresser turned up but LEFT ME WITH THIS NUTTER.

The nutter who ignored me when I  said I had school photos tomorrow and could I please have nice, straight, neat hair: your basic neat, brown bob please. ….But she was so into her own ranty headspace that she didn’t seem to understand and she fucking layered it and now I look like Side-Show Bob.

In the end, I didn’t care so long as I could get the hell out of there.

So now, I am an evil teacher with Side-Show Bob hair.

BOY, DO I FEEL PAMPERED NOW!!!

It took 2 full hours of me sitting at home…. completely alone …. before I stopped shaking.

The introvert crawling back into her cave to claw a bit of sanity back…..

 

…..and now I feel childish for having a ranty blog tanty over a bad haircut given under two hours of verbal torture.

gah!

 

I miss you.

I love you.

XA

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Darl. It’s 23 February, 2012. Happy 49th Birthday.

724 days.

Almost 2 years.

Happy Birthday Darl.

I should have baked a cake.

I should have cooked roast beef.

I should have the “good china” on the table.

I should have had presents wrapped and cards made.

But I didn’t.

You died too young: 47 and a bit.

I miss you.

I love you.

XA

Dear Darl, it’s February 12, 2012

713 days

Or 1 year, 11 months, 11 days (hello 11s)

Almost 2 years.

…and I miss you more than ever.

Work is settling down after a fashion. … in that my second teaching partner has been easier to deal with than I thought she would be.  We will be OK …… and helping with that is the brilliant children we have.  They are all beautiful.  Several have already stolen my heart.

I wish some of them were orphans though as some of the parents need a bit of a wake-up call: your child isn’t perfect (and that’s OK), and yes I can tell when a toilet trip is needed and when it’s pure work-avoidance; yes, I’d rather she had a book that was “too easy” and understand it than I would if she read a higher level so you could brag to the other parents; let your child have a little independence – it is good for them.

I miss you in my down time though.  Its getting bad.

I searched for you on a dating site … but you weren’t there. (A couple of really nice guys and a lot of  … er… ‘idiots’ is about as polite as I can be).

But nobody like you.

Nobody even comes close.

I know this is telling me that I’m not ready, but my longing to be held in your arms grows worse each day.

I want to fall asleep in your arms with your chest against my back.

I want to wake with the soft skin of your shoulders as my pillow.

Not this empty bed in this empty room.

I can barely stand it.

I miss you.

I love you.

XA

PS – If you could just send me a nice bloke, that would be great.  Just give me a sign so I don’t send him packing like I did most of the blokes on that dating site.