december 4, 2001. from a letter sent to the notify list on this actual day Once upon a time I bought a ska compilation from a second hand cd store (I think it was in 97, when I worked across from one of the best second hand stores in Toronto and spend an obscene amount of my wages on music. Getting my pay cheque directly deposited there might've been more labour effective. Anyhoo...) There's a song on it called "The Mookah," and it's about - well, something, i'm not sure what, it's ska and it goes by pretty fast - and they sing about the movie "When Fat Guy Goes Nutzoid." And because it's ska and all catchy & shit, I will probably be able to sing that title until the day I die. This week it's been running through my head every day. Why? Because I'm going nutzoid. Teaching grade 7 is the most work I have ever done in my life. I've been writing in the little spaces in my day - during the 15 minutes before supper comes out of the oven, or right after I finish one lesson plan and before I start another. I am writing. And I'm designing a new layout for December. But what I'm not doing is updating very much. And I might not update until the weekend. I'm just putting in my hours until I get a chance to breathe & piece it all together. I hope I can get a handle on this schedule before I start really teaching next year, or I'll have to give up journalling altogether. So. Nutzoid. But okay. Half-day today, 4 classes and an in-service. I was under the impression that I, like my kids, was getting half the day off, and was very disappointed to find out the truth. I think the problem comes from the conversation I had with my teacher last Thursday: "Do you understand about Tuesday's early dismissal?" "Yup." In reality I'd never heard about it, but the words 'early dismissal' were like a balm on my soul, one that blinded me to any other understanding. Like the understanding that my professional obligations required me to sit in a meeting wherein I would have no input, because really, who cares what the student teacher thinks? Some days I don't even care what I think. Last night I traipsed off to Petra's house for Buffy Night, an event that has become ritual this year. It's a pretty good ritual as these things go: we eat snacks, we watch Buffy and we bitch about our program. Life is good on Buffy Night. Even re-runs of Buffy are good on Buffy night because there are still snacks, and besides, we missed a bunch of episodes because of homework & scheduling crap so we have an imperfect understanding of the new season. Last night they re-ran an episode that we'd missed, so as the old slogan goes, it was new to us. It also allowed us to help her roommate Beatrix cut out 46 rocking horses for a craft her Grade 2 class was doing today. Correction: we cut out the rocking parts; the head assembly was still untraced when I left at 9:30. Beatrix is going nutzo far more than I am, and for far better reasons: she's been spending 5 or 6 hours a night on prep for activities that take about 2 hours to complete in class. I already cry almost every day from the stress of it all and I only spend 1-4 hours a night on prep & marking - if I had her schedule I'd have a complete breakdown. Beatrix's teacher has told her that unless one stays up until midnight every night, one isn't trying hard enough. I think 'one' should tell her to stick it, but that's just me. I'm feisty & rather fragile - I break easily and shower bad feeling everywhere. Beatrix seems to be holding it all together admirably. this time last year: good teacher?