Yesterday was a day of luxury for me; my mom and I scrubbed out the kitchen cabinets, which were full of little piles of termite droppings and other undesirables. We packed away seven boxes of dishes, freeing up about one-eighth of the cabinet space for my stuff, which was more than enough. I'm not kidding about the day of luxury. To be alone with my own thoughts (and the occasional silly comment shared with mee-maw), free to go to the bathroom when I so chose, was delightful. To go through an entire day with complete surety that I won't be ridiculed, ignored, or trampled by football players is now my greatest source of joy.
Schmoopsie and I went to the beach today. Just kidding, I don't really call him that. Not often, anyway. ANyway, it was our first real day at the beach since we moved here. Horrifying, isn't it? We only stayed for a couple of hours because I got stung by a jellyfish (I guess). The welts have already disappeared, so what was the point of that? I was scared out of the water, but have nothing to show for it. For a few seconds, I thought I might get out of working this week. Now I'll have to hope I get chosen for jury duty. (I filled out the questionnaire last week, answering in a way I hope will make me the ideal juror.) I'm keeping my fingers crossed.
Now I'm off to school. My dad is going to clean my room, since no one cleans the rooms at school. I have to empty the trash myself, and the floor has never been mopped, as far as I can tell. It's a biohazard.
Happy weekends!
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Wednesday, August 17, 2005
other news
Our container arrived, and all of its contents have been lugged into the house. Ben's car made it to Hilo, where he picked it up along with some malasadas (Portuguese doughnuts) for me. Now all we have to do is unpack dozens of boxes, stop kicking ourselves for paying to have our crap shipped 5000 miles, and enjoy the accoutrements of modern living! (dancing gorillas, Target photo frames, and secondhand books.)
Ben started his job yesterday. He is working at our equivalent of the Alibi. Translated to Hawaii, that means it comes out every two weeks, is considered radically leftist (it does give a regular column to a pothead who wants to legalize it and runs for every public office there is), and instead of pages of kinky personals, will have a full-page ad placed by a very lonely man in its next issue.
Ben will be editing, writing occasional articles (he already has an assignment this week), and doing other stuff that I don't know about because I am so absorbed in my horrible job.
Ben started his job yesterday. He is working at our equivalent of the Alibi. Translated to Hawaii, that means it comes out every two weeks, is considered radically leftist (it does give a regular column to a pothead who wants to legalize it and runs for every public office there is), and instead of pages of kinky personals, will have a full-page ad placed by a very lonely man in its next issue.
Ben will be editing, writing occasional articles (he already has an assignment this week), and doing other stuff that I don't know about because I am so absorbed in my horrible job.
Friday, August 05, 2005
violating mine own tenets of the essay form
I am, for the first time, someone who lives for Friday. I used to live for Sunday, or sometimes Thursday, or Tuesday when I closed at the BookSnore, but never have I been so enslaved to a schedule: 8:20 is purgatory, 12:46 is the next one, and 2:30 on Friday is heaven. Catholics, tell me if I got it wrong. Which one is the inferno?
48 hours of freedom! Before Monday, I must decorate my bulletin boards with motivational materials, create seating charts for six classes, start reading 3 different textbooks and their matching boxes of teacher resources, internalize the discipline plan, and plot out every minute of the next week so I don't suffer interminable silences when I run out of material. But 16 hours of work will be two days at the beach when I can be alone with my own thoughts, free of the responsibility for 85 lives.
So tonight, Benicles and I are eating mahi-mahi and ono (leftovers from last night, pilfered from the parents' fridge) and watching a whole season of The West Wing (Dub-Dub if you're in the know). If the name or face of a student pops into my mind, I shall shoot it down with a shot of tequila. Just kidding. I am already twenty years older and forty times dorkier since assuming the mantle of teacher, or "Miss!" as EVERY SINGLE STUDENT at my school calls their female teachers. Last night I turned down a glass of wine at dinner, because I needed to wake up at 5:30 this morning and was afraid of having a headache. I'm a shell. (I changed my mind halfway into dinner, but still.)
And today when Bennifer picked me up from school, he was blasting Cypress Hill. I shrieked at him to turn it off...and I meant it! I am quickly losing my tolerance for profanity and insubordination of any kind. I mean it, and don't ask why. Because I said so!
They made the new teachers do a silly dance at the welcome back assembly today. That is all.
48 hours of freedom! Before Monday, I must decorate my bulletin boards with motivational materials, create seating charts for six classes, start reading 3 different textbooks and their matching boxes of teacher resources, internalize the discipline plan, and plot out every minute of the next week so I don't suffer interminable silences when I run out of material. But 16 hours of work will be two days at the beach when I can be alone with my own thoughts, free of the responsibility for 85 lives.
So tonight, Benicles and I are eating mahi-mahi and ono (leftovers from last night, pilfered from the parents' fridge) and watching a whole season of The West Wing (Dub-Dub if you're in the know). If the name or face of a student pops into my mind, I shall shoot it down with a shot of tequila. Just kidding. I am already twenty years older and forty times dorkier since assuming the mantle of teacher, or "Miss!" as EVERY SINGLE STUDENT at my school calls their female teachers. Last night I turned down a glass of wine at dinner, because I needed to wake up at 5:30 this morning and was afraid of having a headache. I'm a shell. (I changed my mind halfway into dinner, but still.)
And today when Bennifer picked me up from school, he was blasting Cypress Hill. I shrieked at him to turn it off...and I meant it! I am quickly losing my tolerance for profanity and insubordination of any kind. I mean it, and don't ask why. Because I said so!
They made the new teachers do a silly dance at the welcome back assembly today. That is all.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
people who care...are people who share
A case of Kona Brewing Co. Pale Ale to anyone who can sing more of that Jem song! (You'll get it when you visit me.)
I'm at my parents' house for a blessed half hour break. Ben picked me up at school because I didn't take a lunch (we're just borrowing a car until his comes, so I'll always be trapped at work), and it felt like the old days when I would hide on the floor of a friend's car and sneak past security to go to Billy Bob's Park n Pork for lunch. I have a free period, which I just learned is rare and will not last for long.
I won't be posting much (sighs of relief all across my vast, vast readership) since the sis, her husb, and THEO!!!!! arrive tonight, AND I have to condense four years of education training into one weekend. Just wanted to say that it's going okay, I guess, but I feel like I'm in over my head and should probably quit next week and try to be a beekeeper with Ben. (He's on his way to an interview now, my little worker bee.)
Teaching sucks, yall!
I'm at my parents' house for a blessed half hour break. Ben picked me up at school because I didn't take a lunch (we're just borrowing a car until his comes, so I'll always be trapped at work), and it felt like the old days when I would hide on the floor of a friend's car and sneak past security to go to Billy Bob's Park n Pork for lunch. I have a free period, which I just learned is rare and will not last for long.
I won't be posting much (sighs of relief all across my vast, vast readership) since the sis, her husb, and THEO!!!!! arrive tonight, AND I have to condense four years of education training into one weekend. Just wanted to say that it's going okay, I guess, but I feel like I'm in over my head and should probably quit next week and try to be a beekeeper with Ben. (He's on his way to an interview now, my little worker bee.)
Teaching sucks, yall!
Monday, August 01, 2005
but i was such a NERD!
I got the call today that I had been dreading: the principal, telling me I start tomorrow. I’ve had two weeks to prepare for this; I knew I would probably have 10th and 11th grade English, and could at least have come up with my classroom rules, made lists of possible poems to study, found some curricula online, or shopped for an insulated coffee mug and adorned it with stickers.
Instead, as I mentioned before, I chose my timeworn approach of denial. It worked so well in high school (writing an entire semester’s writing portfolio in one night), college (writing a 30-page senior thesis in two nights) and my “professional career” (writing a crappy bookstore newsletter in an hour).
Teaching is not writing. Nor is it philosophizing, or theorizing, my faves! Here are a few brief reasons why I am wracked with anxiety over tomorrow, so much so that a bewildered Ben is tiptoeing around me and asking every five minutes if I’m okay:
1. My classroom contains one copy of a textbook, a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich in the rusty desk drawer, and a folder of mimeographed notes on certain students…
2. These notes, written by counselors, special ed teachers, and god-knows-what-other-deviant-behavioral-specialists, instruct me on how to handle the students, strewn throughout all six of my classes, and their assorted, um, traits: ADD, bipolar disorder, history of sexual harassment and inappropriate touching of males and females, chronic truancy, to name a few (chosen for maximum shock value, I admit). Among the tips for individual kiddos: call probation officer, don’t get too close when student gets aggressive, allow student to “walk off” her anger, call security sooner than standard school rules suggest.
3. My students range from freshmen to juniors, and are either level “Y” or “Z”. These are the two lowest levels of English. Something tells me the classroom demeanor I honed from college professors (sit in a circle, try to get the students to talk about "the text") won’t cut the mustard here.
I realize this is flawed logic, and tainted by a sense of entitlement that is unfounded and unjust, BUT. I was a nerd! I was never even in an “X” class, let alone Y or Z! I did all my work, was a Star Student (really, I got to go to McDonald’s with the principal and other SS’s for that), and hung out with teachers at recess. I want an Honors class, I want an Honors class!
Instead, as I mentioned before, I chose my timeworn approach of denial. It worked so well in high school (writing an entire semester’s writing portfolio in one night), college (writing a 30-page senior thesis in two nights) and my “professional career” (writing a crappy bookstore newsletter in an hour).
Teaching is not writing. Nor is it philosophizing, or theorizing, my faves! Here are a few brief reasons why I am wracked with anxiety over tomorrow, so much so that a bewildered Ben is tiptoeing around me and asking every five minutes if I’m okay:
1. My classroom contains one copy of a textbook, a half-eaten peanut butter sandwich in the rusty desk drawer, and a folder of mimeographed notes on certain students…
2. These notes, written by counselors, special ed teachers, and god-knows-what-other-deviant-behavioral-specialists, instruct me on how to handle the students, strewn throughout all six of my classes, and their assorted, um, traits: ADD, bipolar disorder, history of sexual harassment and inappropriate touching of males and females, chronic truancy, to name a few (chosen for maximum shock value, I admit). Among the tips for individual kiddos: call probation officer, don’t get too close when student gets aggressive, allow student to “walk off” her anger, call security sooner than standard school rules suggest.
3. My students range from freshmen to juniors, and are either level “Y” or “Z”. These are the two lowest levels of English. Something tells me the classroom demeanor I honed from college professors (sit in a circle, try to get the students to talk about "the text") won’t cut the mustard here.
I realize this is flawed logic, and tainted by a sense of entitlement that is unfounded and unjust, BUT. I was a nerd! I was never even in an “X” class, let alone Y or Z! I did all my work, was a Star Student (really, I got to go to McDonald’s with the principal and other SS’s for that), and hung out with teachers at recess. I want an Honors class, I want an Honors class!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)