Where is my liquid eyeliner?

I think sitting on a bed of nails for three hours would be more pleasant than going to another parenting class. Sadly, we have four more to go. Oh God, save me from this. It took them an hour and a half last night to cover two of the 18 handouts. And it was not very in-depth or intense information. One of the social workers, Ol’ Talkie, as named by Peaches and I, does just that. She talks and talks and talks.

Also, it is evident that Ol’ Talkie is already evaluating us by our participation, the content of what we say, and how we act. And she is coming up with her own ideas for our behaviors. Last week, after I had my dyslexia melt down, she apologized at the end of the class. But then she said she noticed that I was speaking up in class more after I revealed that I have dyslexia, as if the two were related. They were not. I simply spoke more for the topic was evaluating children’s’ strengths and weaknesses and treatment plans. This is work I do every day and could do in my sleep. So of course I spoke up more. Being evaluated is something I do not like when it is done improperly.

I feel so oppositional in there, like I am about to go into a mosh pit at a punk bar in the 80’s. Except I cannot bang into people and thrash about in the class, nor can I wear black liquid eyeliner, spiked gauntlets, or chain necklaces. I want to doodle or journal or knit but there are not that many people in the class so the social workers would see I was not paying attention. So I pretend for three hours that I am living for every word they say.

I don’t know what I am going to do ‘cause we have four more of these classes! Where is my “My Life with the Thrill Kill Cult” tape? I need some help here!!