I was browsing bargain books, today. I know. Not exactly an earth-shattering revelation. Dread Nation is on sale for $1.99, and I didn’t find an audiobook replacement for the book I really ought to push my way through. (Pretty sure I was promised vampires. Where are the vampires? Are they… behind Woodrow Wilson?)

I bumped into a book called Organizing the Disorganized Child, and downloaded a sample of that, in hopes that it might help organize the disorganized writer. To be honest, it might be all the past battles with assorted teachers, but… the thing really kinda irritated me. Uh-huh. Sure. The problem is definitely that your kid doesn’t have a folder to put shit in. Couldn’t possibly be that he’s utterly disengaged. My whole life would have been better, if someone had dealt with the fact that I was basically being warehoused with busywork. I’m shocked at how much resentment the topic still kicks up.

Anger.

Well, like I say… if I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t.

I get the general idea that we can’t have little kids running around the streets starting fires, but still.

There’s a solid future in street-urchining. Ask Charles Dickens.

Let’s just say that my school experience wasn’t ever sunshine and roses. The best thing I can say about it? I don’t ever have to go back.

I probably shouldn’t have picked up the book in the first place. It’s not like I didn’t know that it was going to be one of “THOSE” subjects.