sometimes there's no substitute for inspiration

Live2write2day suggests something on schools for this return-to-school week.

Take your time. I don't, of course. At best, I'm reading every other word.
Blind panic drives me on. It's all a friggin' mess, it is. I think of dad.
Out there in that dark and draughty corridor, still full of hope. Eternal
optimist. Doesn't realise. But when he does... I know just what he'll say:
Snip it out and paste it in the book we call Experience. That's him. Ever
hopeful that experience will see us through. Well drawn, these characters.
I'll give them that. Immigrants. Before the word got tagged, acquired its
usual epithet. Illegal. Spending their first Christmas here and never
having seen real snow before. I should have read with greater care. That
much is clear. Of course I should. I smile and pass the clip-board back.
More questions. No prize for guessing what about. Easy to begin with.
Relax, I tell myself. I try, but not successfully. Then: What could you
say about their homeland? Was it a warmer place than here? Or would it
have been colder? Warmer. Two boys run past the window waving flags.
A rugby football match has finished and they have run the lines. I grab
what reassurance such endorsement from the powers that be might offer.
Flags are flags. They signify approval, celebration. Proof positive are
smiles across the table. How do you know? I've forgotten how I know. I
simply know I know. I read it, didn't I? Was in the script. A gardener
goes by outside. A barrow load of leaf mould. Apt comment. Quite agree!
And so do they. Their faces look well mulched. They're going through
the motions now. Like me, they want the farce to end. What do you want
to be when you leave school? Ah, shall I give them A or B or C? I plump
for B. An architect. This pleases them. Half hopefully I steal a glance
to see if other flags are waving. No, not a chance! Now let's pretend
we've come to you, your practice, asking you, your team, to plan a new
school. One like this, let's say. What might you think about including
to benefit both boys and staff? Take your time. This time I'm going to!
My glance goes through the window once again, across the garden to the
cycle sheds where earlier I'd seen boys struggling to stack their bikes
in almost vertical positions - as the frame demands. Even as my inner
editor blue pencils this and other thoughts, my lips and tongue have
jumped the gun, by-passed the process altogether, and are saying that
I'd go for good heating, lighting and good air-conditioning. I've given
it no thought at all, my answer. Now I hear a bell sound somewhere near.
Sounds of running feet and laughter follow. Another omen from the great
beyond? Well certainly, they're smiling now. One answer rubbishes the
endless rubbish that I'd spread before. It takes a moment, then I'm in!