Monday, January 21, 2013


Hey baby!  Do you have a minute?  Let me buy you a coffee.  You want your usual carmel latte?  Alright, I'll be right back.

So.  Baby.  I've been wanting to talk to you about something.  I mean . . . you know I love you, right?  I love all your curves and indentations in exactly the right places.  I love how you listen and let me write the story I want to tell all over you, how you give my thoughts organization and my writing purpose.  You know I love that about you1.

But sometimes I feel like I want something more, that I'm holding myself back.  I feel like there's more out there than formulaic, five paragraph essay structures.  More than the same transition at the end of every paragraph.  More than a simple restatement of the thesis.  It's not you baby; it's me.

Oh, come on baby, don't cry.  You're great, the way you gave students clear-cut organization.  We had some great times together.  Like when we made Josh realize he actually could write - remember?  He wasn't even going to write an essay.  It's those memories I'll hold onto, baby.

But seriously, any teacher would be lucky to have you when they're up against five paragraph essays.  Just because it didn't work out between us doesn't mean you won't find another teacher out there.  There are plenty of fish in the sea, right?  You could even say there are schools of them!  Get it?  Schools?

What's that?  Oh, you're going to go?  Oh, okay.  Well, good luck.  Maybe I'll see you sometime.  No?  Oh.  Okay.  Bye.

1. This makes no sense unless you look at this. Go back.

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