Make me act a N****

Yo…

Why is my boss trying to stick me for my money? Sorry Let me rephrase. Why is my boss not trying to pay me today, like he promised he would at the start of the week?

SOMEONE PLEASE IN FORM THIS NIGGA….

Don’t fuck with my money. Don’t do it!

backtrack…

I sent a letter to him earlier in the week saying when my last day would be. Last night all of a sudden, you are quick to accept my letter of resignation and say your going to mail my last two check to me…NIGGA NO YOU DON’T.

I didn’t mail you my fuckin services. I didn’t make you wait 3 to 5 business days for me to come in and teach and put up with a bunch of other unnecessary bullshit. GIVE ME MY FUCKING MONEY.

I WILL SNAP ON THIS OLD GEEZER. 4 MONTHS OF PENT UP ANGER AND BULLSHIT. I WILL GO THE FUCK OFF.

So, I nicley replied to his email and said some of the aforementiond details, minus the curse words. He replied

Payday is the 20th. I will mail your  last two checks. Don’t come here.

I copied and pasted that from the email.  NIGGA.

I know when pay day is, but I asked you in person eariler in the week if we would get paid on Friday becasue it was the start of your holiday break. YOU SAID WE WOULD.

WHERE DOES ALL THE FUCKING CONFUSION COME FROM.

AND THEN, YOU TELL ME NOT TO COME THERE.

SAVE YOUR BREATH. AS LONG AS YOU HAVE MY MONEY, I’LL SHOW UP WHEN EVER THE FUCK I LIKE AND WILL ACT A NIGGA IF I FEEL LIKE IT JUST BECASUE YOU HAVE INCONVIENCED ME.

DON’T PLAY WITH PEOPLE’S MONEY. ITS THE DAMN HOLIDAY SEASON. I HAVE BILL AND OTHER OBLIGATIONS THAT RESTED ON THE FACT THAT YOU SAID YOU WOULD PAY ME TODAY. PAY ME TODAY.

I’M SO READY TO FIGHT THIS OLD ASS MAN. YO…

THIS IS THE MOST SPITEFUL SHIT I’VE HEARD OF IN MY LIFE. AND HE HAS THE NEVER TO CALL HIMSELF A PASTOR. NIGGA!

LET ME SHOW UP THERE AND HE TRY NOT TO PAY ME.

IM PISSIN ON THE CARPET AND CALLING SOMEBODY ALL TYPES OF UNCHRISTIAN LIKE NAMES.

I DON’T PLAY GAMES.

NOT WITH MY MONEY.

NOT AT ALL.

 

IF I DON’T POST FOR A FEW DAYS AFTER THIS ITS BECAUSE I’VE BEEN LOCKED UP,

 

kd

Indian Giver

Remember all the nice things I said about my kids the other day….I TAKE THAT SHIT BACK!

OH THESE RAT FACED SNOTTY NOSE PIMPLE RIDDLED FUCKERS.

I can’t take. NOT TODAY. I didn’t sleep well and I feel sick again, I will catch a care and plead guilty.

WHY ME????

Did I piss on someone in my former life? I’m just saying. Horrible job after horribler job!

I wonder… how many times I can ram one of their heads into a chalk board before they black out?

How many kicks to the abdomen before bruising starts? How many??

I should call up Mike Jack and R to the Kelly. Let them have a field day in this bitch. Candy Bars and Piss all day.

FUCK EM’

FUCK EM’

FUCK EM’

I’m a really nice person,

KD

A Serious Case of Mid-December’s Writers Block

Friday’s my last day of work and I hate to say it, but it’s a bittersweet feeling. As much as I complained and wanted to shoot these kids in the face, I am going to miss them a tiny bit. Yesterday, I told them I wouldn’t be coming back after the holiday, and for the first time I actually made a real genuine connection with them. I didn’t see them as contributors to my misery. I saw them for what they were, young black men and women with their futures right before them as bright as they wanted to be; just like me in many ways. In that moment I knew that I had to leave them with something, something that would inspire them, that would keep me in their minds and possibly their hearts as they will forever be apart of mine. In the past 3 years they have went through several teachers and from the stories that have been repeated to me the reasons the other teachers left were similar to my own. That made me feel worse, I almost considered staying. I knew/know that I couldn’t, as much as I wish I could be here to teach them and help them the best I know how, I have to move on for my own good. If I was a little more giving, a little more self sacrificing I could have stayed just until the end of the semester, but I’m not there yet. On Friday when I leave here, I will be FREE, or FREER than I’ve felt in the past 5 months. Still, I want to leave them with something. I though about buying them all Christmas present but…nah! I sat and thought for a while. I came to the conclusion that I would write them a letter. A letter filled with advice and perspective, nothing preachy, just my honest outlook on the world and how much it has changed since I was in their shoes almost 5 years ago.

 

Now I’m having writers block. There is so much to say and to be said, but where do I begin. How do I relay this information to them? How do I make it short and sweet, Lasting and wise?

 

I need help I only have two days left.

 

Caring about the kids I want to kill,

 

KD

Ramble: Because my body aches and I came to work anyway

I don’t feel good. These kids are being extra loud, my neck hurts, there is some thick phlegm shit stuck in the back my throat, and I just want to go home and crawl in bed. I can’t. It sucks. I’m trying to drug myself up, but I’m scared to take anything that may make me too drowsy and fall asleep on the bus, and wake up anywhere besides home. I wish I had a car. Scratch that. Today would be a horrible day for me to try and drive. I can barely make it up these mazes of steps and door ways here at work; traffic is much more difficult.

This is just not a good day. I hate being sick. I that the thought of being sick. I’m such a big baby. I just want my mommy to make me some soup and bring me orange juice with a flexi-straw.

Why won’t these kids shut the hell up!!! Why??? I hope this sickness doesn’t come with a sore throat. I hope it’s gone by Monday. I can’t let this sickness rob me of my big “Fuck you, I’m quitting speech.” I’ve planned it since day three, every since I found out Teaching Assistant meant I would be trapped in this hell because of the damn recession and my lack of a degree.

Who turned the lights up so high? Yesterday you couldn’t pay for an ounce of sunshine; today every single beam seems to be aimed directly in my eyes penetrating the part of my brain that cause a cacophony of ringing noises, that I can only call chaos.

Why me?

Where is my mother, a bowl of chicken noodle soup and darkness and silence? That would make my day so much better. I knew it was going to be horrible when I over slept by a half an hour. I should have stayed in bed. I’m always ignoring the important signals.

There are a 1000 people texting me and are angry that my responses are short un-humorous. I can’t help it. I just don’t feel like me. Lie. I do feel like me, just a me who got ran over by a tractor trailed and infected with the bird flu, but I haven’t eaten chicken in days, and that has no real relevance to what I’m talking about now. Someone save me from me. Save me from whatever sick is resting in the pit of my belly. Tell me that this is not some anxiety ridden disease that has chosen to manifest itself in the form of insomnia and cold symptoms.

I promise, I’ll be better and less anxious and lethargic come the New Years, I have it all mapped out, including my red white and blue skinny tie.

I know I’m rambling, but I can’t sleep like I want to

So, I’ll type until the pain stops, or the medicine kicks in, or its time for me to go home. 

Some people look hotter when they suffer,
KD

Ramble: There’s Plenty

I know I’ve said this no less than a million times, but I wish there was more time for writing. There has been several books, near nervous breakdowns, snoring, new clothes, paychecks, happy hour drinks, and miserable trips on public transportation, and my little hater telling me not to work out (jay smooth reference).  There has been plenty and still not enough laughter, fresh air, irresponsibility, not enough being 22.

I’m just taking on a lot right now. The idea of transferring schools my senior year, abandoning a career and struggling to start a new one.  Right now there is no room for the good stuff. The great stuff. The stuff you want snapped into a facebook photo album or the stuff you blog about. Its missing and I’m sorry if this is repetitive or boring but this is my reality.

What I wouldn’t give to be annoyed by Ms. Piggy right now than the man with the never ending tear and his cheese nibbling rat faced wife and there terribly unattractive children. What am I to do? …besides look for a new job, which I’m doing and pray that Obama gets elected, and eat coffee cakes and drink pineapple  juice (my new addiction). And the other kids…who should no so much more and are so complacent and so un-motivated. I try to teach them what I know. I can only do so much with limited resources but why break my back when they don’t even put in a quarter of the effort. I know I should. I can only imagine the type of frustrating asshole I was at 15. Or 16. Or 17. Hell even at 22.

I miss the non fall that was North Carolina. Drinking until you slobber and spending the next day in the library doing research and re-capping. I miss the name call, the run, the jump, and the embrace of a friend that has only not seen you in 8 hours.

I miss the potential loving I could be on the receiving end of right now. L

WHY…O’ WHY????

I need a drink and a drinking partner. I tried to audition my mom for the position. She’s no fun. A for effort but an F for actual drinking ability, and going to happy hour alone is sad. But the bartender is F’in cool. Her body art is like a maze that grey goose makes me chase. I sit and watch her arms and pretend to watch some pointless sports show. Because its creepy to have some slightly tipsy guy with a bus pass look you up and down. Then again, it’s not my fault her tattoos rock.

And I love dress socks, except when they make you fall on the kitchen floor at 5:15 in the morning.

I hate teaching. I don’t like it. God Bless those who do. I’m glad I got out when I did. Well, I’m not completely out yet. But damn it I’m close.

I do like ties.

And hot tea.

And Jazmine Sullivan.

Anyone wanna be my friend?

Maybe once or twice a week to have a drink and listen to me make fun of my students.

I promise I’m awesome and full of jokes.

We’ll have fun.

Maybe not…

 

Still Here,

 

KD