I hate this.

Class ends on the 17th and I’m just sitting here refreshing the pages, waiting for assignments to come in so I can jump on them.

I’m over this term, sick of the students, and done with the hand-holding. But if I don’t stay on top of the crap that they submit, it’ll snowball. I’ll feel overwhelmed, horrible, and helpless.

That’s a lot of negativity and so I sit like a twit hitting refresh.

…. Why do I even bother? I try to change what the blog looks like every now and then and WordPress fusses that this is a so called premium style although it didn’t say that when I swapped it out. WTF WordPress? I’m not paying you any more and I don’t want to pay you now.

I think I’m slightly irritable. Well, more than slightly. Tomorrow is Father’s Day. My father is dead and has been for a very long time. Because of cancer and age, I don’t have the ability to make Jason into a father. This holiday is all but dead to me.

At one point, it was Dairy Queen ice cream cake in the shape of a folded men’s dress shirt and some work clothes for dad. That and Christmas was the only time he’d accept new clothes. Otherwise, he’d head off to the Foundry with holes in his jeans.

I’ve been nostalgic all day for some reason. That’s probably another reason why I’m feeling fussy.

But, as always, I shouldn’t. Jason and I actually got out. We went to the Friendship Flea Market — and was sorely disappointed. If we were in the market for a rusted potato masher or gummed up salt shaker, we’d have our pick. But we were actually looking for something – anything – that was worth taking home.

Unfortunately, that was far and in between. What we did find wouldn’t fit in the car.

That was a real shame too. I wanted to go to the flea market for a while as it only happens twice a year and boasts of over 500 vendors. I doubt there was 100, let alone 500. There are good people there, that much was obvious, but the flea market itself has been laid low by… Covid? Inflation?

Either way, Brandon is to blame.

Bastard.