Not ready is such a mild way of describing how I feel about tomorrow's open house. I can think of many curse words that would put it better, but this is a PG site. (Except for my occasional references to that yummy liquid comfort and cure all.)
How will I ever get it all done? Surveys to print, signs to post, check sheets to make, books to stack. When I look at it in black and white, here, at my home, in the comfort of my sweet drenched shirt, Weezer pounding in my heart, wine still buzzing in my brain, it doesn't look so bad. My stomach doesn't agree, it is still in knots. My brain is convinced it is the wine on an empty stomach. My brain doesn't want me to remember that the xerox machine will eat my surveys just because. Or that my printer has yet to work this week. And forget about the fact that I am still not sure where my math journals are. I have bigger fish to fry. Like, Where is my stapler? Does my student teacher think I am crazy? and Why didn't I record every minute of last year so I can remember how to be a teacher?
Broken hand and bad math do not a one way ticket make. This worker can't seem to go home.