There are six painful weeks left in the 2007-08 school year. Think dull butter knife attempting to cut a fillet. Much like a marathoner is said to hit an invisible wall around mile 20, I have hit the teacher's version of this phenomenon. I'm out of energy and it has been difficult to stay motivated. Teaching is very much a business of sales, and this saleswoman has hit her quota. My mind wanders more than it should and chooses rather to think about packing, job applications and garage sales, when it should be concerned more with The House on Mango Street. I don't want to grade another paper, taking roll and entering that into our new fancy-schmancy system sucks, and the slightest unsolicited smirk from an errant student sets me off.
Needless to say, my seniors have also hit the wall, although I swear that they hit theirs in November. Blame it on an early case of senioritis; a severe case this year. Put on your protective gear my darling dopes, cause the f-bombs are ready for deployment!
I get frustrated when I ask them to complete an assignment and they do everything they can to avoid the task at hand. All that spills out of their mouths are but whys and do we have to-s. Enough whine to sauce the most seasoned lushes. I will admit to feeling a little hypocritical because secretly, I'm also throwing a full blown tantrum. They just can't see it. I'm a good actress. There is though, a significant difference between my attitude and those of the 150+ future leaders and criminals of America that tumble into my room every day: I understand my obligations. I show up and do the work. Not all of them, bless their lazy little hearts, understand this concept.
Someday they'll get it. I hope.
So, we/I charge on, dragging our/my heels through the six-week field of mud towards that proverbial finish line marked on the calendar: