Round Trip

The last time I wrote to specifically to you, dear Blog, I was mocking a male who claimed to know how to be a father and husband.

However, I am sad to say, that my creative energies have been unfaithful to you, Blog. Since I've returned to teaching—long-term subbing for a friend on maternity leave—I find myself where I was three years ago, wanting to quit, not writing, not reading, flustered. My energy is drained at the end of my work day. Come the afternoon, I am physically weak, my voice strained. Is it possible to say "be quiet" a different way without using the word "shut"? Those that are taking my energy and thoughts away from you are seventh graders, yes . . . bastard seventh graders, whom I have now dubbed the worst of all, of whom I promise to you, faithful Blog, to write a few entries.

Blog, I struggle at this very moment to attend to you, to appease you by writing right now, but it hurts. My brain, which I use for smartass comebacks, lesson planning, decision making, and tackling Isaac and Jamar (not literally), aches as it tries to send signals through my arms, forcing my fingers to type this, so that you may have something fresh and new to post for the world of four readers that come to see you.

But, Blog, please be understanding. I will fight, with every ounce, to attend to your needs. Please don't give up on me.