Dear Kay,
This hasn't been a good day. It started out well, with Nick giving me a belated birthday present, wrapped and all!, which turned out to be a Shrek mug. I am to drink out of where his brains should be, apparently. Barb gave me a card which would have been for Christmas, I imagine, which was embarrassingly touching and lovely. I was stupidly moved, just in that she'd obviously been paying attention to my whining and ridiculousness over the last few months. It's nice to work with nice people. It makes this job almost less depressingly awful.
This morning I was running stupidly early, and decided to run (drive) down to Bakers Delight to pick up some breakfast/lunch, since I had a good 20 minutes to spare. You wouldn't have been proud of what I got, but that's not the point of the anecdote. The point is, I was leaving the shop with a great deal of fattening cheesey ham food and discovered, shock of all shocks, Marty my high school Maths teacher. I almost said something when I remembered that he was always sort of bumbling and awkward, and I don't think he liked me very much. I was not the maths type, and those classes were two hours long. I mean, come ON.
Anyway. I should have said something and I sort of regret that I didn't. I wanted to tell him that I remembered, and that even though I hated maths and have forgotten basically everything that he taught me, I still appreciated the effort. And that he contributes to my overall memories of that place which are, against all odds, good. And I wanted to tell him what I was up to now, and for him to think maybe he was a part of what I'm doing today, and for him to both feel good and be proud. Does that mean I'm proud of what I'm up to lately? Does that mean I want to brag?
But this afternoon, I don't think I have much to brag about, really. The students are driving me mental, the people I work with are also kind of driving me mental by proxy...just by being the people I work with, and me working while being with them, they piss me off. Even the ipod is giving me the shits, it seems stuck on a crap shuffle run. I do like this song, though.
So here it is. 23 years and 4 days old. Working. Not writing. Possibly, or really not possibly but probably, falling in love.
And I miss you.
--K.
