Friday Night

Here I am. Another Friday night, and I am writing (another) paper due at midnight. This is a silly pattern, but it's soon to end. This is the second-to-last paper I have to write. Then I merely edit away and produce a 200 page document showing off my ability to use educationese to describe my teaching abilities. But I have a meeting at 6 with one of my favorite classmates to plan a presentation... that'll be fun. And then I can finish my paper! Yay!

Meanwhile, a sparrow just crashed into our living room window. I think it's ok. I went out to check on it, and it flew into the tree. it's still sitting there. I told it to rest up and relax for a while. Yes, sometimes I talk to birds. Usually when I'm writing papers on Friday nights.

I get to go to the river with my cute neighbor friend tomorrow. I think I like Mystery Man as a pseudonym better - makes him sound more like the superhero he is. I am considering not bringing any homework at all. We'll see. I'll probably freak out at the last minute and bring a bunch of stuff.

Oh, minor detail - I also walked at graduation last weekend. Here's a picture of me and my beautiful friend (who, sadly, is now in Tennessee).

Pictoral Representation

of my week:



Hence my hobo-blogging. Sorry. If you could send up prayers that I'll get a job soon, I would appreciate it. Beyond that I'm pretty sure I don't want to talk about it yet.

Procrastinating

I have a research paper due at midnight tonight.

I'm currently watching videos on the National Geographic website.

The paper is still a figment of my imagination.

Favorite Student Quote

Seen in the vocab sentence section:

"Miss Mary's pedagogical is good."

Not that good apparently, but thanks.

this one's for jeni!

I'm considering taking a course in Biblical Hebrew. Just for giggles. I'll let you know how the first one goes.

UPDATE: It's a no go. I have night class some Thursdays.

how my students were cute today

I don't usually refer to my students as cute. Twits, stinkers, children, and funny... yes. Cute... nor so much. Today I was observed by the English Department Head, and the second the students felt his imposing presence enter the room, an eerie and beautiful hush fell over the room.

The students bent their dear heads over their journals and scribbled furiously. Twice I heard two students begin to giggle and gossip, only to be shushed by their peers. Soft and menacing whispers of, "Can't you see she's being observed? Shut up! If you don't shut up I'll kick your ass!" were just barely heard. As I explained the assignment for the day, students asked, "Do you want those citations in MLA format?" Well, yes, but I'd be suprised if you knew what that even meant. You're showing off for me, aren't you? "For this assignment, can we write more than two pages if we want?" Um... of course? Always?

The second he left the room, they exploded in their usual chaos, but it was flattering that they cared so much. They're precious sometimes. I'll miss them.

being a teacher

i saw three of my students after school today. two were watching spiderman 3. that's fine

(although I may need to air a complaint about the movie right here. aside from cheesiness, aside from it feeling way too long, even. moral of the story: never communicate with your significant other, and all your problems will just melt away. oh, that time you hit me? or kissed that other girl? or only could talk about yourself? i know you didn't mean it. we don't need to talk about it. i just love you so much. don't talk about anything important = healing and love. or the other moral: no matter who i murder, if you would just understand my motives, you would know what a good person i am inside). Rant's over. Back to students.

the third was getting arrested on the side of the road.

disconnected thoughts

I have one more week of student teaching left. I just started to really enjoy it like a month ago, and am not looking forward to taking more classes myself. I'm going to miss my kids. And teaching itself. And being around 150+ people every day. And being constantly stimulated.

The body's still sick, but the mind is fine.

I like spring a lot. Even the rainy days have been ok - the rain feels healthy and full instead of icy and menacing.

I've been reading "The Man in the Brown Suit" by Agatha Christie before bed. It's so funny. I'm drawn into the mystery of it, while laughing at the archaic portrayal of the young female protagonist. It's somewhat ahead of its time, but she's a little too swoony and silly for my taste. But it's sensational, with Elizabeth Peter's style rakish heroes, an exotic setting (what is now known as Zimbabwe), kidnappings, and master criminals.

Mystery Man Gush of the Day: He made the sick girl soup for dinner, and was patient with her germ-induced crankiness and falling asleep at 7:00 p.m.

should we name her?

All of you probably have met my internal critic. She's harsh. I'm too this, never enough that. Never ever good enough. She manifested her snide presence in excess today. I woke up at 1:24 a.m. to my throat actually on fire. Burning. The two tall glasses of water were completely ineffectual, and the ole throat remained in a state of raw, shredded pain. Remains, actually, in the present tense. Talking hurts, and even when I'm not in front of the classroom talking at the students, I'm usually telling them to shut up (never using those words, though). :) So, I stayed home sick.

And feel guilt. Lots of guilt.

Here's what the aforementioned critic sounds like: "You're such a pansy. What weak excuse for a teacher stays home because of a sore throat? You know you just stayed home because it's sunny and nice outside. You're never going to cut it as a real teacher. You're just not good enough. Or strong enough. Here you are sitting outside reading. Oh yeah - "resting", huh? You're never going to get a job. No one even likes you. Your friends don't stay home sick. It's just you. Because you're weak and incompetant. Oh, and you're fat."

So I was trying to be metacognitive and figure out where this voice came from. And then I distinctly heard my dad's voice beating down on himself. He never thought he was good enough, and vocalized it frequently. Apparently it's a learned behavior. And a bad habit. That I need to break long before I ever have children, if ever that day comes. It's hard enough to focus on, you know, eternal things and serving others. Add to that general human difficulty this Voice that insists I think about myself and assume worthlessness and judgment from others.