Once Bitten...

Those of you currently living here in the armpit of the Sunshine State might have noticed that it has rained daily for over a week. Normally this is not a problem. In fact, if it were happening every day at 3pm and someone complained, you would say, "Welcome to Florida," roll your eyes, and go back to poisoning ant beds. But this isn't like that. From Monday to Friday I saw the sun for about an hour, and 59 minutes of that took place on Friday. This is unprecedented without a hurricane, and it's genuinely depressing. Did I mention that the region just went through the most severe flooding in 30+ years? Of course I didn't. I was just testing you. But it's true.

Anyway, I don't want to talk about the weather.

We've got weird bugs now. I'm sure that they're normal bugs (I'm not taking any down to the agricultural extension office for identification), but these bugs aren't usually in my yard and something invisible bit me. During my 59 minute window, I was trying to run the weed-eater with enhanced speed and efficiency, something bit me on the back of the neck, and 48 hours later I still have a welt and stiffness in my neck. My 'pitmate has suggested that I do all sorts of crazy and irrational things, like, "call [my] mother" or "go to the hospital," but I don't have time for all that junk - I just want to sit around until the kids go to bed and play Gears of War 2.

I'll let you know if I'm suddenly paralyzed or lose bladder control.


shudder

Playing Hookie - Hookey - Hooky - I dunno, I'm sick

I rarely miss school - especially for my own illness. Usually a sick child, children, or wife can cause me to turn the reigns over to a substitute, but still not very often. I hate leaving my lovely pupils with somebody else, but especially my classroom. It's like loaning your car to a person who doesn't know how to drive - when you get it back there's likely a scratch or two, unexplained stains in the seat, and the check engine light starts flashing all the time. Fortunately for me, this guy is my sub today:



No lie. Take about 15 years off The Tall Man and you've got a fascinating character I'll call Dr. Checkett. I'll call him that because it is, according to the school board via the FBI, his real name. And title. I have doubts.

Dr. Checkett's arrival could not have come at a better time. We've been talking about scary books and movies all week in preparation to read "The Tell-Tale Heart". I was going to turn out the lights and fire up a few candles and have another teacher bang on the door at the climax, but alas, I've got catbite Ebola or some shit. In my plans I left Dr. Checkett instructions to read the piece aloud himself if he was feeling dramatically inclined. I'm almost certain he will.

Let's take a moment to recognize my lovely custodian, Ms. Sandra. I'm sorry about the feces and urine you're about to discover coating all my desks.

Time to Kill

No, not the movie - Sam Jackson is cool, but not cool enough to float this white-man savior flick. It is me who has the time for the killing. Er, killing time, that is. Whatever. I was sick last time I posted something and I'm sick now - not the same illness. That would make it AIDS or something. I went to the doctor's office yesterday because I was bitten by a cat at my principal's house. Really hard and repeatedly. My finger looks like it was slammed in a door with nails sticking out. So the doctor (male nurse practitioner) points out that I have a sinus infection to go along with my infection caused by feline bitery and prescribes me these gigantic and expensive horsepill mammajammas. (Teacher health plans suck goats.) So I'm sick, but not for long. And my finger is guaranteed not to fall off. By a male nurse practitioner.

Anyway, I'm killing time because I'm still at school waiting for a meeting on my own time. Each year we have to draw up specific individual plans for students who fail to meet FCAT goals. What is FCAT, you might ask? A great test with monumentally stupid implications thanks to the No Child Left Behind (but neatly swept under the rug is OK) Act. So all of the kids in my intensive language arts class have a plan and their parents are supposed to come tonight to sign it and, if previous years are any indication, stare blankly at me because these plans are stupid and redundant and probably flash cleavage liberally because they've never seen a male teacher under the age of 30 with no visible scars.

Wish me luck.