Thursday, October 12, 2006

Summer too early

It's been hot today. 37 degrees hot. Parents are picking their kids up from school wearing their bathers under their clothes. They've just come from the pool, or the spa and have relaxed smiles on their faces. Everyone is thinking about a cold beer, or a drink with ice in it. I'm hanging up artwork with two blisters on my hand the size of 5 cent pieces -hot glue gun burn- trying to hold back the tears because it stings like fire. The corridor doesn't have any air conditioning and the little bodies spilling out from the classrooms only adds to the heat.

It's been an uncomfortable sort of day - watching the cloudless sky become deeper in colour as the day went on, through the art room window. Uncomfortable for it's injuries and frustration. One particular class I just don't seem to gel with, no matter what I've tried. It's too late now, I'm at a loss. How do you get back what you've lost anyway? Is there ever a chance to unpick bad stitches or is that too messy? I find myself detatching from everything they do and say. I don't care about their artwork and I don't want to care about them. But I always catch myself wanting to make it better. It only leads to dissapointment though and I curse myself for caring..again. So dumb.

The new furniture was delivered most quietly and left outside the artroom as a pleasant surprise. Another surprise came in the form of a group of boys who volunteered to help move all the old tables out and bring the new ones in. A job I couldn't do alone. A job that would be impossible with my hand hurting the way it did. We had fun ripping the plastic from the table tops and unravelling the shiny newness underneath. The boys love unwrapping things as much as I do - even Dawson, who is trying to get back into my good graces by helping out. Give me any present wrapped in layers and layers of tape and bubble wrap and I'm happy. It feels like christmas day.

I come home to another present. Not a good one - from the Victoria Police. Isn't there a mafia crime ring that deserves their attention rather than picking on the broken girl? Not a word of a lie; I never went through that red light. Karma is trying to tell me something but all I can think about is a nice cold beer.