The days are now endless

I wrote nothing on Friday for the children angered me. I hid my light from them and allowed the cold to reach into their tiny, petty hearts. Perhaps the emotional hypothermia would be enough for them to see that although I am more human than they are, I am in fact still human and as such I have feelings. Deeper feelings, and more profound than their fickle, selfish, always-taking feelings. Their emotions are like the sticky fingered digits with which they cram candy into their faces and never question where it comes from.

And now I have returned from my Siberia of the heart, my gulag of loneliness to find them still the bitter, off-putting, hallway thugs I had once cared so much about. And though they have souls only as tall as my dog's ankle I still have decided to care.

Does period four continue to drag me into their ball pit of shame to strangle my feelings of self-worth in the crib? Yes.

Does period one still treat every class as a potential study hall? A bit.

Does period two continue to challenge me to games of rock paper scissors they know they can never win, knowing that their failure is also mine? Occasionally.

Period three is literally getting points just for wearing the proper shirt, and yet there are still kids with zeros.

I have seen the mechanisms of pity and surely it is the engine that drives my steam engine of hope up the steep incline of apathy.