Bob to the front

"Phil! Phil, in the hole!"

"Matt! Matt, by the door!"

"Bob! Bob, to the front!"

That last one has always been my favorite, probably 'cuz my father-in-law's name was Bob. That, and it's the easiest one to picture. Makes me giggle.

(I hate that the formatting won't work.)

Or something like that.

It's been a week o' Mondays.

Cry or laugh. I can't do either.

Joe's brother has cancer. Joe is 18. His brother is 20. Joe's losing his mind with grief, and he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's terrified of what's happening with his brother. He has his own chronic health condition to deal with. He just started college, and life's pressures are closing in.

My student has been dealing with sinus issues for months. He has petitioned the institution for help, and they keep giving him the runaround. Finally, he was given a CT scan this week. If they had done this when he first asked, he'd stand a chance. Now, he has a 2-inch square tumor in his head. Due to his religion, he can't receive transfusions. He must have surgery, but he might not survive it. Medical malpractice at the institution is commonplace, yet it continues to use this third-party service. It boggles the brain.

Carwash attendant son got fired. He just called me to say his TV slipped while he was plugging in his Xbox. The screen fractured. He thinks it's the end of the world to live without a TV for a couple of weeks. He can't afford one. I can't either. Suck it up, buttahcup. It's what happens when you spend every bloomin' paycheck on shoes and hoodies.

When I say, "I resign" or "I give up," I don't, really, okay? I just mean that, for that day, I've had enough. I've had enough for today. I can't anymore. I just ... can't.