Second Chance Idol Week 1: Take Heart
My drug habit began earlier last year when it became harder to persevere at the morning’s premier. You see, five a.m. comes quicker than any man followed closely by millions of milligrams of caffeinated gems found at various beverage stands.
Coffee. Espresso. Monster and Amp. Enough to incline my ramp and call me Jack…ed. Up. Cup after cup it helps me stay tough in a world that is rough and filled with gruff stuff.
Second grade.
I’m not talking about spilt lemonade or the need to apply a purple band aid. No, I’m talking knife blades, temper tantrums, and tremendous tirades. Children who are eight already filled with hate while simultaneously trying to procreate.
Some days I just sip my liquid stimulant and try to decide what to say (what to do) about the latest repugnant incident that just ensued. Like the pornography display in the school’s café. Or the children crawling up the walls or their attempt at demolishing the bathroom stalls. And let’s not forget some of those unfit parents who refuse to admit to taking out their own frustrations in the form of bruises, bang ups, cut ups, and other abrasions on these poor children’s faces. And so I call the correct places and they open their cases while I do my best to stay in this rat race and maintain the little bit of grace that is left.
Then there’s the continual ridiculation of our administration that simply cannot be safely expressed in a journal that’s publically undressed.
There is simply no rest and my attempt to function with all this in conjunction with the caffeine found in a bean is causing an internal disarray that is simply obscene.
I seriously think I may need to start taking some heart medication.
Coffee. Espresso. Monster and Amp. Enough to incline my ramp and call me Jack…ed. Up. Cup after cup it helps me stay tough in a world that is rough and filled with gruff stuff.
Second grade.
I’m not talking about spilt lemonade or the need to apply a purple band aid. No, I’m talking knife blades, temper tantrums, and tremendous tirades. Children who are eight already filled with hate while simultaneously trying to procreate.
Some days I just sip my liquid stimulant and try to decide what to say (what to do) about the latest repugnant incident that just ensued. Like the pornography display in the school’s café. Or the children crawling up the walls or their attempt at demolishing the bathroom stalls. And let’s not forget some of those unfit parents who refuse to admit to taking out their own frustrations in the form of bruises, bang ups, cut ups, and other abrasions on these poor children’s faces. And so I call the correct places and they open their cases while I do my best to stay in this rat race and maintain the little bit of grace that is left.
Then there’s the continual ridiculation of our administration that simply cannot be safely expressed in a journal that’s publically undressed.
There is simply no rest and my attempt to function with all this in conjunction with the caffeine found in a bean is causing an internal disarray that is simply obscene.
I seriously think I may need to start taking some heart medication.