I seem to be captivated by some of the most mewling students of all time. Not captivated. That's really the wrong word. Captured is more like it. And I wonder, do I bring this on myself because of my way of being? Or is it just a turn of the celestial determinants, whatever that means? I just feel like there is a small knot of students at my school who seek me out so they can complain, kvetch, harp, whine, fuss, and generally annoy the bejabbers out of me.

Or is it that we are so close to the end of the school year? That could be it. My own stores of patience are nearly depleted by this time of the year. And students, like mad dogs, can smell insecurity and impatience and inability to withstand terror a mile away. They sniff it out, come hunting for you, and when they track you down, they grab hold and shake and rattle your bones and don't let go. You have to physically shush them out of your office and on to some other poor sap who will listen.

Maybe that's it. Maybe I listen too much. Maybe I need to work on my tough exterior a little more. I am so glad there are just a few more weeks left.

But then what? A summer of preparation for the new year... and new students, who must learn to respect and fear me, worry that they are bothering me, taking up my valuable time... No, that won't work. I do need some kind of a professional makeover, though. Argh. My least favorite thing. And it always seems to come to this.

Sand candles. I'd like to make and sell sand candles at a hippie market somewhere in Northern California. And dipped candles too, with various colors of wax, and poorly mounted wicks that would pop and sputter when lit. Yes. That sounds pleasant.