Women
Who don’t work.
I belonged to them. For a very long time.
But I had no kid. And no time to kill. On the sidewalk. In front of a school.
I do wish I could still stay at home. Enjoy the day at a speed that I choose.
I would indeed love to not have to work till past midnight every day. Yes. I would.
But I’d rather be put to death than belong to their foul little word.
And I think about their kids.
One so pale. Never goes out. Excellent work. Perfect little 7 year old bookworm.
Another. Who speaks about himself using his first name. Who needs a help I can’t give. But which he won’t receive. Because maman is not too keen on shrinks.
The last. His maman. So perfectly maman. The son, so shy. So ill at ease, he develops tics. So smothered, he has few words. And not the ones you use to communicate (I can piss? For: Can I please go to the washroom?) her perfect little school boy. Who didn’t know how to form letters at the beginning of the year.
Who don’t work.
I belonged to them. For a very long time.
But I had no kid. And no time to kill. On the sidewalk. In front of a school.
I do wish I could still stay at home. Enjoy the day at a speed that I choose.
I would indeed love to not have to work till past midnight every day. Yes. I would.
But I’d rather be put to death than belong to their foul little word.
And I think about their kids.
One so pale. Never goes out. Excellent work. Perfect little 7 year old bookworm.
Another. Who speaks about himself using his first name. Who needs a help I can’t give. But which he won’t receive. Because maman is not too keen on shrinks.
The last. His maman. So perfectly maman. The son, so shy. So ill at ease, he develops tics. So smothered, he has few words. And not the ones you use to communicate (I can piss? For: Can I please go to the washroom?) her perfect little school boy. Who didn’t know how to form letters at the beginning of the year.
I tried to help. Thanks to the aide personnalisée which enables a pupil to have the teacher all for himself. But the perfect maman saw it as an unfair punishment towards her perfect little schoolboy, as well as an inhuman torture for her who had to wake up half an hour earlier.
So the teacher has to pay. Luckily, she’s new. And alone. The other classes are in other villages. Yay! Some fucking teacher-bashing to brighten up our tepid village life!
Take her words. Or just one word my child told me she said. Put it in a complete different sentence, complete different syntax, and use it against her. We haven’t found a way to attack her class work (yet?) but hear all about how she dares talk to our children! There’s so much I can complain about! I have all day. I can stand here, on the sidewalk, and spit my venom in any available idle ear.
More: I can phone the parents I don’t see there, because they do have a life, and ask them to complain to the headmaster about this disgrace of a new teacher.
That’s when the plan has a flaw. Because, apparently, amazingly enough, some (the few who have a life) are pleased with my work and ready to report this attempt at spreading slander.
Getting this job was not easy. Working with the kids is great. they come to school with a smile on their face. The atmosphere in class is fantastic and they do a good job. And I know, because they don’t cheat, that they are fond of me. There’s absolutely no need, nor any reason (apart for sheer stupidity) for everything to be so rotten once the class door is passed.
My body is too tired, too stressed. It falls sick more easily. At a time when, for the reasons above, it’s not convenient. Sharks can smell blood from such a distance...
But my mind, although pretty tired of all this as well, is not weakened.
So the teacher has to pay. Luckily, she’s new. And alone. The other classes are in other villages. Yay! Some fucking teacher-bashing to brighten up our tepid village life!
Take her words. Or just one word my child told me she said. Put it in a complete different sentence, complete different syntax, and use it against her. We haven’t found a way to attack her class work (yet?) but hear all about how she dares talk to our children! There’s so much I can complain about! I have all day. I can stand here, on the sidewalk, and spit my venom in any available idle ear.
More: I can phone the parents I don’t see there, because they do have a life, and ask them to complain to the headmaster about this disgrace of a new teacher.
That’s when the plan has a flaw. Because, apparently, amazingly enough, some (the few who have a life) are pleased with my work and ready to report this attempt at spreading slander.
Getting this job was not easy. Working with the kids is great. they come to school with a smile on their face. The atmosphere in class is fantastic and they do a good job. And I know, because they don’t cheat, that they are fond of me. There’s absolutely no need, nor any reason (apart for sheer stupidity) for everything to be so rotten once the class door is passed.
My body is too tired, too stressed. It falls sick more easily. At a time when, for the reasons above, it’s not convenient. Sharks can smell blood from such a distance...
But my mind, although pretty tired of all this as well, is not weakened.
