| 3/30/99 The classroom in which I teach is incredibly warm. It makes me drowsy. I feel guilty enough about wasting my students' time as it is; they're too young to understand that they can sit and talk to me for half the lesson and still be learning. The past two days have been awful--I can see the beautiful, crisp, sunny weather outside, the kids stare out the window, and I stare at the clock. Doesn't help that they have spring break next week. I've heard all the plans: Tyler and McLain are going to Colorado, Lindsey's going to Florida, Mark's going on a cruise. I get a four day weekend, which I'll spend writing a paper on atonality. I won't have any money after the weekend, since the kids are all gone on vacation. I want a vacation. However, I don't want to sit here and whine about that. It's my own fault that I'm in grad school instead of teaching, like I was supposed to be doing right now. Excuse me, geez, I would have made a horrible band director. Does that mean I have to scrounge around for work for the rest of my life? John's now in Georgia, having a pretty good time, from what he's told me. He's found a townhouse where we'll live when I get down there, and he's setting up all the financial stuff that spells out how well-off we'll be once I find steady work. And I'm starting to get excited about it, too. More than just wanting to see him. When he was in boot camp I finally got used to having him gone, and then he came back for a week and I have to get used to it all over. I'm cranky and lonely and generally unpleasant--I even snapped at a few students today. I'm not as unstable as I was eight weeks ago when he left the first time. But I'm irritable. I hate me when I'm irritable, and that makes me more irritable. Listen to me, I said I wasn't going to whine. Just slap me when I get like this.
|