I have made a pact with myself. In order to become the best writer that I know I can be, I have pledged to write every day. Okay, so we all know that every day will not happen, but I can attempt it, right? How about every day that I go to work? That might work.

Reflecting on the events of the day. I’m not sure I am exactly thrilled to be back at work. It’s not that I don’t love my job, my coworkers, or the kids I teach. It is simply a matter of retraining my body to recognize the differences between the weekdays and the weekends, which is a pain in the ass. I am really and truly a night owl, a creature of the dark. I prefer the dark, with the company of my music and the cool evening breezes which blow. At least as much breeze as we get in Fort Worth in the realm of one hundred degree plus days. Bologna. That, of course, did not happen. Upon opening my sad little refrigerator, I was met with the stench of old yogurt and coffee creamer, which I was not allowed to clean up, due to the carpeting beginning much sooner than what I anticipated and had been promised by the construction crew. Alas, a mess awaits me and to be honest, I don’t care to attempt the clean up until the damn air conditioning has been restored.

On to other events of the evening. Against my better judgment, I texted Louisiana, after having been shut down prior in the week. To my chagrin, he has a date. Tomorrow. The day I had wanted to come to visit. After the debacle of reuniting with first boyfriend, I thought that attempting a brief encounter with Louisiana would build my battered heart and bring me some, I don’t know, new energy, perhaps, with which I would begin the new school year. Not so much. Not going to happen. And that is that. The mind blowing experience must have not have been quite as memorable as I believed it to be. As a result, I will be staying in Texas this last weekend before the beginning of this next school year. And that is that.

Listening to:

Get Gone – Fiona Apple

How many times do I have to say
To get away, get gone?

Flip your shit past another lass’s humble dwelling.

You got your game, made your shot,
And you got away with a lot,
But I’m not turned on.

So put away that meat you’re selling
‘Cause I do know what’s good for me
And I’ve done what I could for you
But you’re not benefiting,
And yet I’m sitting
Singing again, sing, sing again

How can I deal with this, if he won’t get with this
I’m gonna heal from this; he won’t admit to it
Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out
It’s time the truth was out
That he don’t give a shit about me.

‘Cause I do know what’s good for me
And I’ve done what I could for you!
But you’re not benefiting, and yet I’m sitting
Singing again, sing, sing again

How can I deal with this, if he won’t get with this
I’m gonna heal from this; he won’t admit to it
Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out
It’s time the truth was out
That he don’t give a shit about me.

How many times can it escalate
Till it elevates to a place I can’t breathe?
And I must decide, if you must deride
That I’m much obliged to up and go

I’ll idealize, then realize that it’s no
Sacrifice, because the price is paid, and
There’s nothing left to grieve

Fucking go!

‘Cause I’ve done what I could for you,
And I do know what’s good for me
And I’m not benefiting,
Instead I’m sitting
Singing again, singing again, singing again,
Sing, sing, sing again

How can I deal with this, if he won’t get with this
Am I gonna heal from this; he won’t admit to it
Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out
It’s time the truth was out
That he don’t give a shit about me

How can I deal with this, if he won’t get with this
Am I gonna heal from this; he won’t admit to it
Nothing to figure out; I gotta get him out
It’s time the truth was out
That he don’t give a shit about me