I'm not a hospital....
Because I have no patience. Play on words, fool. Figure it out. Usually, I have patience like Cedars Sinai, but lately, it's being tested like an MF. First of all, people drive like fucking retards. Why do some drivers work so hard to change lanes to a seemingly faster lane, and then return to the same lane they were in just seconds later? You just got nowhere fast, dipshits. I've been sitting in traffic everyday this week, and sure enough, it's always an accident up ahead that's holding shit up. And these bottleneckers who like to gawk at accidents piss me the fuck off. What do you want to see? A mangled body? The pain on some kid's face after he just wrecked Daddy's Acura? What I'd like to see is all of these MF's taking BART. Either that, or a lesbian love scene. Oh yeah, and world peace.
As you can see, I cuss like a pirate when my patience wears thin. What's funny is I work with kids that could even try Nelson Mandela's patience. But I always keep my cool and handle situations well. I work with level 14 SED (seriously emotionally distrubed) kids, teach in highly volatile classes in low-income neighborhoods, and train my two puppies well, even if they insist on smelling my ass constantly. Now, I've got a little poop machine, that for no apparent reason, loves to cry. Most of the time, lil' Mya is telling us that she's hungry, wet, pooped, cold, or needs to be burped. And after she's been taken care of, she's fine. But there are times when she's crying and we can't figure out why!? When I'm in good form, I soothe her for 15 minutes and she's fine. But when it's the middle of the night, my patience runs thin. Sometimes, I feel like just letting her cry it out. But, my guilt gets the better of me after a few seconds of her wailing. Ah, the irony. I work with some f'd up kids, and I ain't trippin'. But put me in charge of a 10 lb. little dynamo, and I'm as inpatient as a crack fiend.
As you can see, I cuss like a pirate when my patience wears thin. What's funny is I work with kids that could even try Nelson Mandela's patience. But I always keep my cool and handle situations well. I work with level 14 SED (seriously emotionally distrubed) kids, teach in highly volatile classes in low-income neighborhoods, and train my two puppies well, even if they insist on smelling my ass constantly. Now, I've got a little poop machine, that for no apparent reason, loves to cry. Most of the time, lil' Mya is telling us that she's hungry, wet, pooped, cold, or needs to be burped. And after she's been taken care of, she's fine. But there are times when she's crying and we can't figure out why!? When I'm in good form, I soothe her for 15 minutes and she's fine. But when it's the middle of the night, my patience runs thin. Sometimes, I feel like just letting her cry it out. But, my guilt gets the better of me after a few seconds of her wailing. Ah, the irony. I work with some f'd up kids, and I ain't trippin'. But put me in charge of a 10 lb. little dynamo, and I'm as inpatient as a crack fiend.
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