February goes too fast. February goes too slow. February boots along at its own speed that's the most inconvenient speed at any given moment.
For the past few days I've been feeling empty, stressed, bored, unhappy. I'd blamed it on February - good old February, scapegoat for the masses - but I have a new explanation. This morning I discovered that my Red Dollar Day Sale had started ("everything in my uterus must go!"), and for some reason this has righted the world on its axis. Suddenly the emptiness means something.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only girl who looks forward to her period explaining everything. Honest to God, though - every time I start bleeding, it's like the last 20 pages of an Agatha Christie novel.
* * *
Our chances of returning to Toronto are picking up bulk and momentum. I wish I could be happy, but my worries are stacked up like customers at a deli, and I can't go on break until they're served. I'll be dealing with Little Miss Failing-My-Degree until at least the end of April. Master Schools-Downtown-Will-Break-My-Spirit and Mrs. I'll-Never-Escape-This-Urban-Sprawl will have to wait until their numbers are called.
No no no no. This is a good thing. This is a taking-the-next-step thing. This is a it-doesn't-matter-because-the-Boy-is-here thing. This is...next season's thing. I'll think about it then.
* * *
This afternoon I had another meeting with my host teacher & my supervisor. Surprise, surprise - the graven tablets of the law have been rewritten. I am no longer supposed to focus on some vague, misunderstood idea of "technology" in my lessons; instead I am to focus on classroom management, direct instruction and "enrichment" (by which they mean bells and whistles).
It was also a half-hour of my host teacher cutting me down, hinting darkly at my skill set and damning me with faint praise while my supervisor chuckled away in perfect understanding. Oh, but that man was jovial. I think my least favourite "joke" was when he spoke of giving me the stamp of approval and gently nudged the side of his fist against my forehead. I said quietly, "I hate it when you do that stamp," because it's not the first time, and I said it so softly and pathetically that if they had bothered to listen they would've thought that I was making a joke. It would have to be a joke, because people in my position aren't allowed to get angry.
Right after the meeting I found my faculty lesson advisor and basked in her effusive sympathy for as long as I could. The two of us have a plan, and that plan is to detail every fucking lesson according to my instructions before I even get into the classroom. And then if I do badly on my first supervision, all four of us can have a friendly meeting in which a member of the faculty finally goes to bat for me.
I am going to pass this practicum and then I am never, never speaking to these people again. My host teacher and supervisor, I mean - if my advisor can get me through this in one piece, I will send her Christmas cards for decades. But speaking or not speaking to people is secondary - I will pass this practicum.
As Christopher Penn said in "Reservoir Dogs," 'First things fucking last...'
* * *
4 years ago today: the day i brought lilith to class
