you aren't going to believe this

Friday was the last "real" day of school. (Tomorrow we get out at 11:30, so I've a feeling the three kids whose parents are sticklers will show up.) The day was kind of stressful, as all rules seem to go out the window, or at least my window, and I was worried I'd get in trouble for letting kids into my room without a pass, or, I don't know, letting my sixth period have a paper war for five minutes.

Our rollicking game of charades got so loud at one point, a neighbor teacher came over to huffily tell us he was giving a test. Who gives a freakin' test during the last period of the last day of school? I was vindicated when the madcap science teacher blew up a rather dicey sulfur bomb outside a few minutes later, and the entire school ran out to hoot and holler, as the crazy teacher continued to set off more explosions, almost losing his arm in the process. School-themed charades pale in comparison to reckless endangerment.

When the bell rang, something I had not expected to happen happened. I felt sad. That school was out! I'll never again have this particular group of gangly, self-important, insecure creatures squirming under my attempts at control. I felt a poignant let-down as they waved goodbye, calling, "Bye Miss! You're the bomb!"

Then I came home and felt blissful relief as I settled in front of a West Wing DVD with, for the first time in 9 months, no sense of guilt or impending doom.