Dear Lord...

Please give me the strength today to not go insane. Please make me able to curb my language in my fucking little kids dance classes. Give me the strength to talk to the parents in a polite way and not tell them their children are demon seeds from hell. Let the kids decide that listening to Miss Molly's rules of no screaming, no running, and keeping your hands to your God damn self are real rules and not just so I can blow hot air from my mouth. Make me WANT to be a teacher and not want to walk out and head to TGI Friday's for a Long Island iced tea at 9:30am. Please make the little chubby girl stop touching my ass every time we do a dance movement across the floor. Please make her see the rage in my eyes when she plays the "let's-hide-behind-Miss-Molly's-back-so-every-time-she-turns-around-she-can't-see-me-cause-I'm-so-fucking-clever-and-I-keep-moving" game. Knock it the fuck off, Chubby. Please make the one little boy in my class retain the cute, elfin charm he had the first two weeks of class. Growling/screaming like an exorcist tiger is not cute and it makes the little girls scream. Please make the tiny Asian sister duo stop talking and touching each other. Make them pay attention to what the fuck I am saying and not cut in line because they are little dumbshits and never know when it's their turn to do crab walks across the mat. Please let the few little ballerinas I have who actually listen to Miss Molly know that I adore their patience and they will be rewarded in Heaven, unlike their classmates who have a hot little seat in Hell waiting for them where I'm pretty sure they won't be hearing the Silly Dance Contest. Give me the choreographic inspiration to come up with some movements, ANY movements to the song I have chosen for Teen Company. I looked like a bumbling idiot last night, Lord, and it made me feel like a douche bag for not seeming to know what the fuck I wanted them to do. In Jesus' name, Amen.