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Alternate titles for this blog: "I don't wanna," "It's not fair," "Why is the world picking on me?", and "Yes, I will cry, stomp, and pound my fists...I don't care if I'm almost 30." Yeah, that last one is a bit crazy long.
If you haven't guessed it yet, I'm talking about going back to work. I completely realize that I probably sound worse than my actual kids. But I don't care. I'm pouting. I'm almost 30. And I don't give a fig.
If you haven't clicked to another page yet, thank you. I don't mean to be a whiney baby (well, I don't entirely mean to), but for some reason I am not ready to go back. I don't know if it was having three weeks of vacation after summer school instead of my usual two. Or if it's the fact that I taught at my school last year--no new-school smell. Or maybe it was today's meeting.
According to my contract, my work is supposed to start next week. Yet, today I had a department meeting. All day.
It wasn't...
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