Blech

Aw, the little darlings at Booker T. teamed up to give me a present: a sinus/respiratory infection from Hell! Such sweethearts.

I'd been warned about 'the middle school crud.' Shit is no joke. I feel like I've eaten mescalin, without the aesthetic and philosophical revelations. My arms are really long and my torso is made out of rasping gears and tin shards. My head is a balloon barely tethered to Terra. Occassionally these confused and disparate parts are compelled to work together to hack up green shag carpet into a waste basket. I'm tired but incapable of sleep. To sleep one must breathe.

And this evening I have another one of those accelerated teacher-training grad courses to attend. I think it's Curriculum and Instruction in Secondary Ed, where I'll be spending four hours each Tuesday until the Rapture. Given the total absence of apparent usefulness in those previously taken 20-odd credits of education courses, I eagerly anticipate this one. Perhaps the professor will assign a personal belief statement? Or a reflection? Those who can, do; those who can't, teach; those who can't even teach teach teachers about teaching.

I consoled myself with a couple episodes of Rome Season 2 this afternoon. So good to see Titus Pullo killing people again.