We went to my classroom yesterday! And rearranged and tidies a bit, and looked at all the possibilities.
Boy, am I daunted.
I've moved out of excited and am really starting to freak the fuck out!
I'm worried about discipline nightmares. I'm worried that I won't be a good enough teacher to help these kids succeed. I'm very concerned that I didn't go to school for this, and am thus going to prove very incompetent very quickly. I am stressed that I seem to have a mental block for lesson planning right now. I am stressed that I've let so much time elapse and have very little to show for it.
Also, I'm feeling a ton of economic pressure here, at the end of August, when my paychecks have all dried up and my new ones won't start coming for weeks and weeks. I need things for the classroom, I need to buy things, and I just flat-out CAN'T do it. Nevermind a new wardrobe! that is right out the window.
My mother, god bless her, is trying to help by buying me 'teachery' outfits, but oh-my-gawd! You should see them. They're what a teacher might have worn in 1982. An 82 year old teacher in 1982. Ay, ay, ay.
And my husband has decided to build the bookcase instead of the desk he promised me--I helped him come to this decision because it is an easier all-around project, and a cheaper one too, but I'll admit I'm a shade crestfallen at not getting the new teacher desk.
So tonight the plan is to clear off the coffee table and make a serious effort to lesson plan. For real. Honestly. I mean it. Good god.
Oh, and have you ever had to tell three separate people in one week about how you are severely depressed, have suicidal urges, and once tried to kill yourself? This week has been my first week as a new patient at my new psychiatrist, and there's alot of initial interviewing happening. The first one was akward enough, but the following two? Good grief. I almost just told the woman: "You know what, nevermind, I think we're making a mountain out of a mole-hill here. Have a nice day!"
Ug. It especially makes you feel like a looney bin when they give you a card, with their personal cell number scrawled across the back, and instructions to call: "Anytime at all, twenty-four-seven, if you feel like hurting yourself." Yikes. And of course I thank them politely, and nod, and promise to do so, but in my head I'm thinking: Yeah, RIGHT!!!
Today the woman asked if I had ready access to firearms. Jeez.
I don't, incidentally, so don't stress.
Anyway, point is: it's been a draining sort of week and time is fucking flying away from me. At least languishing in the waiting rooms this week has given me time to finish the novel we'll be reading in my 8th grade class 1st semester!
Boy, am I daunted.
I've moved out of excited and am really starting to freak the fuck out!
I'm worried about discipline nightmares. I'm worried that I won't be a good enough teacher to help these kids succeed. I'm very concerned that I didn't go to school for this, and am thus going to prove very incompetent very quickly. I am stressed that I seem to have a mental block for lesson planning right now. I am stressed that I've let so much time elapse and have very little to show for it.
Also, I'm feeling a ton of economic pressure here, at the end of August, when my paychecks have all dried up and my new ones won't start coming for weeks and weeks. I need things for the classroom, I need to buy things, and I just flat-out CAN'T do it. Nevermind a new wardrobe! that is right out the window.
My mother, god bless her, is trying to help by buying me 'teachery' outfits, but oh-my-gawd! You should see them. They're what a teacher might have worn in 1982. An 82 year old teacher in 1982. Ay, ay, ay.
And my husband has decided to build the bookcase instead of the desk he promised me--I helped him come to this decision because it is an easier all-around project, and a cheaper one too, but I'll admit I'm a shade crestfallen at not getting the new teacher desk.
So tonight the plan is to clear off the coffee table and make a serious effort to lesson plan. For real. Honestly. I mean it. Good god.
Oh, and have you ever had to tell three separate people in one week about how you are severely depressed, have suicidal urges, and once tried to kill yourself? This week has been my first week as a new patient at my new psychiatrist, and there's alot of initial interviewing happening. The first one was akward enough, but the following two? Good grief. I almost just told the woman: "You know what, nevermind, I think we're making a mountain out of a mole-hill here. Have a nice day!"
Ug. It especially makes you feel like a looney bin when they give you a card, with their personal cell number scrawled across the back, and instructions to call: "Anytime at all, twenty-four-seven, if you feel like hurting yourself." Yikes. And of course I thank them politely, and nod, and promise to do so, but in my head I'm thinking: Yeah, RIGHT!!!
Today the woman asked if I had ready access to firearms. Jeez.
I don't, incidentally, so don't stress.
Anyway, point is: it's been a draining sort of week and time is fucking flying away from me. At least languishing in the waiting rooms this week has given me time to finish the novel we'll be reading in my 8th grade class 1st semester!
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