First Year Teacher
Friday, September 17, 2004
I like North Carolina, but I hate this weather. Well, I don't mind it if I am at home but this commuting during threat of tornado is for the birds.
It is crazy windy and rainy right now and I have to go to my car and drive to Chapel Hill and then back to Greensboro-- a total of an hour and a half in crazy tornado windstorm hurricane remnantville.
Wish me luck. ¶ 2:42 PM
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It is crazy windy and rainy right now and I have to go to my car and drive to Chapel Hill and then back to Greensboro-- a total of an hour and a half in crazy tornado windstorm hurricane remnantville.
Wish me luck. ¶ 2:42 PM
One of my cute Men's Chorus boys was just hauled out of my school for having a bunch of marajuana in his pocket.
Ah, the dream dwindles... ¶ 11:24 AM
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Ah, the dream dwindles... ¶ 11:24 AM
I’m going to a three-day conference this afternoon. It makes me feel very grown-up to be going to a conference at all and it makes me feel exhausted to know that this one is three days long.
When it ends on Sunday, I have to drive back home and go straight to work at the bookstore. And then wake up and go straight to work at school…. and then to the bookstore. I think it doesn’t pay to think too far in advance.
Last night at work I was shelving books in the psychology section. Good thing, too, because now I know that I am not only a borderline personality, but I also have raging obsessive-compulsive disorder! Whew! I needed that information. I stay away from the medical reference section altogether because I don’t want to know that I have lupus and chronic fatigue syndrome, which I am sure I would have if I read about them.
Apparently having obsessive-compulsive disorder involves having obsessive "bad thoughts"—which is a very serious matter that I don’t at all intend to make light of. I do actually have these. But when reading the book last night, I have to admit that the examples they used were pretty funny. In a very serious tone, the doctors wrote that "examples of ‘bad thoughts’ include: teachers that see buses and imagine throwing children out the windows of them, priests that fantasize about urinating on Jesus, and veterinarians who imagine tearing dogs limb from limb".
I have always been worried by the amount of terrible images that flash through my head all of the time, but I am glad that I don’t have this particular variety of OCD. I imagine people I love or myself being hurt—which apparently is one kind of "bad thought". But it would suck to have the "perverse thoughts" variety. Yikes. Though I do think it is funny to imagine throwing children out the windows of yellow school buses. Funny to think it—not funny to do it. Of course…ahem.
Off to work and work and more work I go!
¶ 7:30 AM
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When it ends on Sunday, I have to drive back home and go straight to work at the bookstore. And then wake up and go straight to work at school…. and then to the bookstore. I think it doesn’t pay to think too far in advance.
Last night at work I was shelving books in the psychology section. Good thing, too, because now I know that I am not only a borderline personality, but I also have raging obsessive-compulsive disorder! Whew! I needed that information. I stay away from the medical reference section altogether because I don’t want to know that I have lupus and chronic fatigue syndrome, which I am sure I would have if I read about them.
Apparently having obsessive-compulsive disorder involves having obsessive "bad thoughts"—which is a very serious matter that I don’t at all intend to make light of. I do actually have these. But when reading the book last night, I have to admit that the examples they used were pretty funny. In a very serious tone, the doctors wrote that "examples of ‘bad thoughts’ include: teachers that see buses and imagine throwing children out the windows of them, priests that fantasize about urinating on Jesus, and veterinarians who imagine tearing dogs limb from limb".
I have always been worried by the amount of terrible images that flash through my head all of the time, but I am glad that I don’t have this particular variety of OCD. I imagine people I love or myself being hurt—which apparently is one kind of "bad thought". But it would suck to have the "perverse thoughts" variety. Yikes. Though I do think it is funny to imagine throwing children out the windows of yellow school buses. Funny to think it—not funny to do it. Of course…ahem.
Off to work and work and more work I go!
¶ 7:30 AM
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
Last night I had open house at my school. The "Men’s Chorus" performed. I didn’t know that was going to be happening and I was surprised to see several of my boys go up to sing.
They were kind of bad-asses, too. I am used to seeing them in class, rolling their eyes at me and looking bored or exhausted. They often tell me they are incapable of homework because football practice is too trying. They smell. They ball up their papers and set them precariously on the edges of their desks. When they leave, those paper balls are inevitably rolling around on my floor. They whisper crude jokes to each other and say "fag" just so quietly that I can’t bust them for it.
But last night, they shuffled into the auditorium in button-down shirts that were a little bit too tight for them and ties that were too short. They stood awkwardly on the risers, arms way too long for their bodies, poking each other and making faces—doing anything at all to pretend that they didn’t care they were up there. Then they sang "Lean on Me" in monotone, staring intensely at the choral director, cheeks blazing red and moist hands clapping weakly off-rhythm.
I thought my heart might just break watching them. I guess I am pretty well suited for the middle-school crowd. When I tell people what I do for a living, I always get condolences.
"Oh, bless your heart!" People exclaim. "I could never do that! What a terrible age!"
In a way they are right. Those adolescent years can be a killer. My kids are horribly awkward in their bodies and their social lives. They are surly and unpredictable. They smell. But they are also hilarious. They still have a little baby in them. And I so remember what it was to be that age that my heart just goes out to them.
Watching my kids last night made me fear having my own. The swell of emotion I get watching these students-- who I have only known six weeks—perform, makes me fear that if I ever saw my own child perform I may not survive it.
In less heart-swelling news, there are about four hundred bats swarming over my school right now. Yep, you read right. Four hundred bats. They live in the school chimney, they tell me. I asked, "Is that a problem?" The reply from the janitor was, "Well, I never thought about it. They’ve been here longer than me."
¶ 7:52 AM
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They were kind of bad-asses, too. I am used to seeing them in class, rolling their eyes at me and looking bored or exhausted. They often tell me they are incapable of homework because football practice is too trying. They smell. They ball up their papers and set them precariously on the edges of their desks. When they leave, those paper balls are inevitably rolling around on my floor. They whisper crude jokes to each other and say "fag" just so quietly that I can’t bust them for it.
But last night, they shuffled into the auditorium in button-down shirts that were a little bit too tight for them and ties that were too short. They stood awkwardly on the risers, arms way too long for their bodies, poking each other and making faces—doing anything at all to pretend that they didn’t care they were up there. Then they sang "Lean on Me" in monotone, staring intensely at the choral director, cheeks blazing red and moist hands clapping weakly off-rhythm.
I thought my heart might just break watching them. I guess I am pretty well suited for the middle-school crowd. When I tell people what I do for a living, I always get condolences.
"Oh, bless your heart!" People exclaim. "I could never do that! What a terrible age!"
In a way they are right. Those adolescent years can be a killer. My kids are horribly awkward in their bodies and their social lives. They are surly and unpredictable. They smell. But they are also hilarious. They still have a little baby in them. And I so remember what it was to be that age that my heart just goes out to them.
Watching my kids last night made me fear having my own. The swell of emotion I get watching these students-- who I have only known six weeks—perform, makes me fear that if I ever saw my own child perform I may not survive it.
In less heart-swelling news, there are about four hundred bats swarming over my school right now. Yep, you read right. Four hundred bats. They live in the school chimney, they tell me. I asked, "Is that a problem?" The reply from the janitor was, "Well, I never thought about it. They’ve been here longer than me."
¶ 7:52 AM
Monday, September 13, 2004
What a weekend!
And the great thing is that it is extended. I took the whole day off to go to the dentist-- just because the prospect of it causes me so much anxiety. I haven't been in forever and I just know she is going to tell me that I am going to have to pay a million dollars for problems that I am sure I have.
But in nicer news, I had a very good weekend doing interesting and fun things with nice and interesting people. Perfect. Friday night I went to an art show in Pittsboro to see one of my friend's work. I was really pleased that her paintings were awesome, so as to avoid having to pretend I liked them when I didn't. The evening included Indian food, a little boy dressed in Spiderman underoos, the purchase (not by me, by my friend) of a china cabinet, and the feeding a feral cat colony. Fascinating and fun.
Then Saturday, Owen and I went canoeing. Leave it to us to turn a beautiful situation into one of hilarity and slight terror. We decided, probably not very wisely, to canoe into the banks where there were a lot of bushes and things. Our goal was to simply see a mammal-- our requirements were that the mammal should have teeth and a tail. We didn't see the mammal. But we did get stuck on a log and as we tried to dislodge ourselves, a nest of spiders all decided to come live in our canoe. As Owen tried to rock the boat off of the log, I was screaming and trying to smash spiders with my oar. There just kept popping up. There might have been about eight or nine spiders in the canoe with us. In the end, we were safe, but the bottom of our canoe was littered with spider corpses.
Then, Saturday night, a few of us went to a dinner and then out to a club. I drank a little (lot?) more than I should and ended up making out with a twenty-year-old...I feel a little guilty about that. I mean, I know twenty is legal and all, but I can't help feeling it is somewhat immoral for a twenty-nine-year-old to go out with a twenty-year-old. How young is too young? I suppose it remains to be seen.
All of this just makes me so happy to not be living in Rocky Mount anymore. Wish me luck for the dentist.
¶ 11:54 AM
And the great thing is that it is extended. I took the whole day off to go to the dentist-- just because the prospect of it causes me so much anxiety. I haven't been in forever and I just know she is going to tell me that I am going to have to pay a million dollars for problems that I am sure I have.
But in nicer news, I had a very good weekend doing interesting and fun things with nice and interesting people. Perfect. Friday night I went to an art show in Pittsboro to see one of my friend's work. I was really pleased that her paintings were awesome, so as to avoid having to pretend I liked them when I didn't. The evening included Indian food, a little boy dressed in Spiderman underoos, the purchase (not by me, by my friend) of a china cabinet, and the feeding a feral cat colony. Fascinating and fun.
Then Saturday, Owen and I went canoeing. Leave it to us to turn a beautiful situation into one of hilarity and slight terror. We decided, probably not very wisely, to canoe into the banks where there were a lot of bushes and things. Our goal was to simply see a mammal-- our requirements were that the mammal should have teeth and a tail. We didn't see the mammal. But we did get stuck on a log and as we tried to dislodge ourselves, a nest of spiders all decided to come live in our canoe. As Owen tried to rock the boat off of the log, I was screaming and trying to smash spiders with my oar. There just kept popping up. There might have been about eight or nine spiders in the canoe with us. In the end, we were safe, but the bottom of our canoe was littered with spider corpses.
Then, Saturday night, a few of us went to a dinner and then out to a club. I drank a little (lot?) more than I should and ended up making out with a twenty-year-old...I feel a little guilty about that. I mean, I know twenty is legal and all, but I can't help feeling it is somewhat immoral for a twenty-nine-year-old to go out with a twenty-year-old. How young is too young? I suppose it remains to be seen.
All of this just makes me so happy to not be living in Rocky Mount anymore. Wish me luck for the dentist.
¶ 11:54 AM
