I like inspiring young minds to learn (yeah, right). Teaching is one of those things that I keep coming back to. Even though I bolt down school lunch in 20 minutes each day, hold it in when I gotta go because I can’t leave 28 kids unsupervised, and spend way too much time planning/grading papers, it’s still one of those things I guess I’m meant to do. Sometimes, I’d like to be a “normal” person, sitting in a cube, reading diaries and blogs when I should be working, going out to lunch… But alas, that is not my lot in life. However, my hubby found me a priceless link: How to Get a Book Deal with Your Blog. Okay, publishers. I’m available. I’ll even quit teaching to pontificate and whine for obscene amounts of money. I await your response.
Month: January 2004
Enough
Okay, I’ve officially had it teaching middle school. The kids are squirrely, but I can deal with that. I don’t care for 6th grade “high-spiritedness,” but the 7th and 8th graders I can handle okay. And no, I guess that hasn’t always been the case, but it is something I fixed. It isn’t really the kids. It’s everything I need to do. I don’t have a homeroom this year, but the mountain of work I had when I did could rival K-2. No, I am seriously being scrutinized. Being under the microscope causes anyone stress. I’m no different. I am a good teacher. I know this. Should I be teaching middle school? I don’t think so. I don’t think this is where my strengths lie. Every blasted thing I do is examined, picked apart, and found lacking. I really feel like improvements I’ve made are just not important. I feel as though I’m being treated unfairly.
I’m the first to take blame, even unmerited, when I screw up. Maybe not 100% of the time, but who does? I have OCD, however, and one of the aspects of OCD that cripples me is perfectionism. If I am not perfect, I don’t want to be. I don’t demand perfection from others, but I expect it from myself. And I just can’t seem to do this job perfectly.
I don’t want to teach here anymore. I want to go back to teaching high school. Maybe even in a private school. My current school feels more and more… wrong for me.
Isn’t It Ironic
Now if this isn’t the most ironic thing:
The author of The First Wives Club died during surgery… for a facelift.
I have issues with my appearance, like most women, but I will never have a facelift. I don’t care if I start looking like a Shar-Pei. I am prematurely gray. At 32, my hair isn’t just salt and pepper, it’s more than 50% gray. I don’t really have any problems with weight — some stretch marks and baggy skin on my belly. But I’m only 5’4″, 100 pounds, and a woman my size can’t have three kids and not get all stretchy.
In other news, I fell down and hurt myself (just like a toddler) yesterday. I was carrying Dylan, slipped on a toy on the floor, and down I went. Now, since I was holding my baby, I didn’t want him to get hurt, so I wasn’t able to block my fall. My hand must have gone out, though, because I did something heinous to it. I don’t know if I sprained it, but today, the thumb joint is all swollen. My backside is what’s killing me. I fell right down on my keister.
Well, I’m off for now.