it falls apart.
and you keep asking yourself “what’s wrong with me?”
when people comment about your former life, the one before you were a teacher, you get upset.
when you think about your former life, and the happiness therein, you get upset.
and you feel tricked. played.
nobody ever told me it would be this hard. nobody.ever.told.me.
so the next person who asks me, “should I do TFA?”
i will do my damndest to psyche you out.
if i succeed, pay me.
if i do not succeed, you might, but there are no guarantees, except for the instability.
like a table with 3 legs
or a spoon on the end of your nose
or oprah’s weight
like the stock market
like the roster
or your administration
or your colleagues
different every day.
like your mood
or your management plan
like the tears that well in a teacher’s eyes.