Forgive me for splattering my horrifying visage across your computer screen or whatever digital thingamabob you’re using to view this, but what I’m wearing is actually kind of important to this story. It was eighty-five degrees in my classroom when I got to work, again. I bought that pullover over the weekend, on clearance, for fourteen bucks. It is wonderfully soft and while it is warm it’s not quite as warm as it looks (that’s a good thing) and I like the pattern and the color. I spent the whole weekend planning to wear it today and looking forward to it.

As I was walking into the building this morning, I thought to myself that it was probably going to be hellishly hot in my classroom and I wasn’t going to get to wear my nice new pullover because it was going to be too hot. And I was exactly right. I didn’t last into second hour, especially since I insisted on drinking my Goddamned coffee, temperature in the room be damned.

We got an email that the Thingamawhosis had broken, and that there was already a guy in the building repairing it, and that classroom temperatures would start coming down soon. By lunchtime it was still 80 degrees, and I sent a cautiously worded follow-up email, which generated a second message to the whole staff that the Thingamawhosis had been fixed but then it promptly broke again. So, just sweat, I guess.

It’s supposed to be in the mid-sixties tomorrow, which is one of those painful things where it’s sort of been winter for a little while and warm weather is going to feel nice but it is also terrifying because it’s fucking February and it’s not supposed to be in the mid-sixties, and the nice weather is a sign of the fucking world ending. One way or another, I’m wearing shorts, because fuck it, that’s why. I strongly suspect that wearing shorts to work will result in the Thingamawhosis not only already being fixed when I arrive, but magically working at higher capacity than normal for the entire day, resulting in the exact same kids who told me it was hot when they walked into my classroom every single class period, as if I didn’t already fucking know, coming in and complaining about being cold.

At least cold 8th graders smell a lot better than hot ones.