The school year is winding down. I finally understand the phrase, "it's going to be nuts from here on in," something that was said to me every year at the beginning of my practicums. Fortunately, my classes have to travel a very short distance to arrive at "nuts," so I'm used to it.

Somewhat unfortunately, I am feeling a profound need to hibernate right now. I'm really only interested in eating and sleeping these days. Our trip to the grocery store yesterday turned into a carnival of indulgence for me, as I decided to pick up numerous snack items that I never keep in the house because, well, I'd eat them. I figure that if I can't be arsed to walk to the convenience store, then I just don't deserve a bag of Ruffles.

Of course, now that I'm firmly in wooly mammal mode, such restraint has flown out the window. Goodbye self-discipline, hello all-butter shortbread cookies. Goodbye marking, hello flannel pajamas. I didn't even take my folders home today - I mean, I didn't mark last night and tonight I have the slim excuse of the West Wing to keep me away from the straight and narrow (I suppose that would mean that I'm on the broad and crooked. Good journal name, that.)

Speaking of journals, I got my next inspiration in the car today, so expect to see a new look in January. I suppose I'll soon tire of the phrase "Sally Popquiz and Eddie Snoozebar," but until then - eeee!

Fairly good week so far. I've been exhausted, dragging myself through desultory lessons only to stuff myself beyond redemption when I walk in the door at night. I'm finally shaking off last week's cold, and the effort to stay upright and moving takes all of my willpower. We've been doing poetry in my homeroom, and I've been pleasantly surprised by the classes reaction; sure, they're a zooey bunch balanced on a Lord of the Flies knife edge of savagery, but they're also getting right into discussing poems that came out stillborn in Nova Gothic. I made a third and final attempt to discuss satire today, armed only with a copy of U A Fanthorpe's "Not My Best Side" and an encyclopaedic knowledge of the Simpons. I think they actually got it this time. We read the poem, we talked about targets for satire, and they actually picked out some topics from the poem! Well, five or six of them did. I'm still impressed. This is a group that used to stare at Ray Bradbury stories and deny that they were satire, because, "that's not funny."

I had a parent interview yesterday, and though it would breach the ethical guidelines of the profession to report upon it, I can in good conscience say that it went really well. The parent came in convinced that I had a problem with the child; said parent left grey-faced, clutching a copy of the child's marking record with all of the zeros thoughtfully picked out. I got to hear the child dressed down in front of me, and while I rather wish that the child wasn't embarrassed, I have to say (meanly) that it felt good to see the child squirm.

As my friends all say, I'm very bitter now.