I can see it.
I can smell it.
I can taste it.
The end of the school year is a mere two weeks away.
The end of the school year is a mere two weeks away.
So close . . .
So far . . .
It's that time of year when the kids lose all self-control.
They forget that come September they will no longer be the big fish in the little pond.
Homework has long been abandoned.
Behavior has long since disintegrated.
Self-control is nebulous.
It's that time of year when teachers are sitting on pins and needles,
Wondering if they'll be rehired, repositioned, or rebuked.
It's like that long walk down Death's Row,
The other inmates clanging metal cups along metal bars.
The cacophony of chaos.
It tastes almost like victory.
It smells almost like honeysuckle.
It looks like the light at the end of the tunnel.
If I can just avoid the speeding trains coming at me,
I might make it out alive in time for summer.
Until then, though,
A toast to surviving.
Two weeks early, I know.
But a toast of hope, all the same.
