CNF Bitchface Syndrome
There are so many things I need to do today.
Shower. Go for a run. Clean Matilda’s room. Buy groceries for the Mother Hubbardville kitchen.
But instead I’m looking at this old essay I wrote about the time I worked at a Christian high school as a Spanish teacher and also coached the cheerleading team.
A couple things about that experience: at the time I was barely a Christian. And I had never been a cheerleader. I didn’t even have cheerleaders for friends. I was licensed to teach Spanish for grades 7-12, so at least I wasn’t a total phony.
It was a difficult time to live through, being this undercover agent in the land of Evangelicals, pretending to be a role model for my students when all I wanted to do was go home and watch TV while I graded their assignments and smoke cigarettes and the rest of it. Now it’s amusing to read about, however.
This old essay is really bitchy, though. As bitchy as some of the cheerleaders I coached, even. And I don’t really want to insult or highlight any of the people from that experience, because a) some of them were nice b) some of them were assholes c) I don’t really need to hear from any of them ever again in my life. It wasn’t their fault I was a fraud, right? I mean, who takes a job at a religious high school when they’re not religious? Kinda stupid move on my part.
Also I’m not really good at Creative Nonfiction. Like, I don’t know all the rules/norms of this genre – CNF, as everyone calls it.
CNF sounds like some kind of genetic disease.