just open up the door and fill your mouth with freedom's feeling

Two counsellors are my school are sick now, each one working half time which still leaves me working a full counselling schedule instead of teaching.  Shawn says I am doing voodoo so I can take their jobs.  I'm not, not really, but I do like their jobs better than I like mine.  Mine is too loud and as the generation gap widens I find myself less and less amused by teenagers imitating things they have seen on Youtube.  I'm too old to know what Youtube even is.  I have also learned why counsellors wear pretty shoes; because they can sit down all day if they want to, but I have opted not to sit.  I go get my victims in person instead of phoning and ordering them like they were pizzas.  I own pretty shoes but I hardly ever wear them.

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Shawn bought a new car which is what boys do, I think, when they get new jobs.  He bought me a lawn tractor as a consolation prize, and although I love mowing the lawn, riding the lawn tractor is a lot more fun than I thought it would be.  Yesterday he shouted out the window at me as I rode by, It's not a go-cart!  

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I said T was a lint ball and I was wrong.  I thought he was writing to reminisce, which was annoying because I liked him all tucked away in the distant past.  And I am not so much a fan of Modern Technology and the End of the Clean Break.  But he wasn't writing to reminisce, he was writing to apologize which makes him less a lint ball and more some sort of spiky thing, like a burr that is tangled up in my hair, a bit prickly and taking more effort to disentangle than I wanted to dedicate.  And slightly painful.  

It would have been nicer if I had responded but now it has been three weeks and though I have spent almost exactly 21 days trying to think of what to say, the problem is that I am still completely ambivalent.  And now I have lost control of this ending because there are an infinite number of ways for silence to be interpreted.

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