Personally, I Picture My Conscience In Stiletto Heels. The Better To Stab Me With.

I KNOW. Second post on the same day. I make no sense.

But here's the thing: I am sitting here on my prep hour, which comes at the end of the day, which means I get very very very little actually done because I'm pooped, people, pooped.

[Tangent: I now frequently sit at the dinner table with four males--one supposedly an adult, one preteen, one kindergartener, and one preschooler. I am Queen of my domain, people, and thusly have had to ban (1) farting and (2) poop jokes and (3) I'm serious, DramaBoy, NO POOP JOKES at the dinner table. Am I crazy for having so much damn fun?]

Where was I? Oh yes. Pooped on my prep. Anyhow, I decided to read back through that last post and suddenly had an attack of conscience. Yes, that one particular teacher is annoying and frustrating and infuriating on a regular basis. HOWEVER. Once she gets all the griping out of her system, she really does want to do well. Which is, I think, part of her problem: she's terrified that she won't, and the situation is a challenging one, and she is dealing with all sorts of new things, and she's resorting to her default coping mechanisms.

I joked, sort of, about playing Compare Our Lives with her. I said I'd trump her. Then said that didn't really mean I "win."

But really, in my head...that's not true. I DO think I "win." And that's a bunch of bullshit too.

She doesn't know all the details of my life and how much I deal with every day.

I don't know all the details of hers, either. Just because she appears one way doesn't mean that's the truth--or at least, all of it. I should know. I spent years portraying one image while hiding the truth.

So I'm being just as bitchy and nasty (and behind her back, no less) as she seems capable of being.

So here's my next challenge: stop listening to the words she says and listen instead to what she means. Stop assuming I know the woman and resigning myself to "getting through the year with her" and start actually getting to know her a bit.

Maybe she'll turn out to be just as annoying as I've always thought she is.

And maybe I'll find out I'm about as wrong as I can be. I have a niggling feeling that this may very well be the case.

Don't you hate it when your conscience starts whispering? Or, when that doesn't work too well, pricking you vigorously so you'll sit up and pay attention?

Yeah. Me too.