the writer

I wondered why it was that I wasn't writing anymore.  I wondered what had turned off and why I wasn't turning to it for repose, for an outlet, for relief.

Then I re-read one of the THIRTY emails I sent today about poorly behaved children.  Oh...so THAT'S what I've been writing.

The amount of time spent on the naughty children is completely repugnant.  Why do they deserve this?  Why is it 8:30 at night and I'm taking the time to intricately describe how a child called me an idiot today?  Why am I justifying this?  

I'm so frustrated I just break out into tears over and over again, just as I did all day today.  I'm absolutely exhausted and completely, utterly tired of being treated like sh*t.