I write best at night. When everyone is asleep. No distractions. Lights out. Just me, a blanket, a pillow. The harsh glare of my computer increasing brain creativity. It’s 2:12 pm. My inner clock is not off. I simply am procrastinating.
When I tell someone I’m teaching high school the first thing they tell me is not to be one of “those teachers”. -Disclaimer. Because I look like I’m 16 does not mean I like 16 year old boys. Not to mention that’s illegal. And gross.-
Since moving to Vegas the amount of blushing I have done has increased. Exponentially. Of the 8 hours I spend “playing teacher” 6 of those are spent beet red and flushed. I have a half hour for lunch. I have a hour prep. Permanent sunburn. Completely believable.
A kid, or child if you will, asked me if I dated boys under 17. I don’t. But he has a car. I took this for some logical explanation as to why the rule should be broken. Life must be simpler at 16. I worry for the shock they will experience at 17 when suddenly life complicates. Teenage angst must triple.
I told the kids my age. I wish I’d had a camera to capture the horrified looks. Yes, children, 22 is indeed a dreadful old age.
Vocabulary word-Facetious.
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