Q. How much should I be marking essays right now?
A. (Circled. Awk.)
Ha ha ha.
Well, if you can't laugh at yourself, then you should just flipping give up.
It's been a really odd week: not odd in that I was crazy busy, but odd in that I wasn't desperately unhappy to be running in my wheel. I was desperately unhappy about other things, just not my job. I suppose the medication is really the wind beneath my wings. Blech.
It was exam week, and I hopped around like a one-legged grasshopper on amphetamines for the first couple of days. The kids were alternately grouchy and desperate, which was more fun than it should have been. I have no real regrets about the deficiencies of my exam review, but I am sort of upset at myself that my textbooks were poorly collected. They give us 5 deficiency forms per class; my list is over 50 kids long. Oh well. I'll do better next time. See, that's the thing about me - I make a lot of mistakes, but because I hate looking dumb, I'm very motivated to fix them the next time.
Besides, my department head is going to have an aneurysm when he sees my list, so I'm sure I'll have no end of reminders next term. He's like that.
On Tuesday, my 12 General's had their in-class exam. I was stunned - STUNNED - by the results. Over 50% of that class was failing on the way into the exam and 80% of the class wrote strong exams and got the credit. Of course, I had to stay up until midnight to mark their exams, thanks to a brace of unnerving setbacks that began that night.
Now, I knew I was up against it going into the week. The final marks for that class were due on Thursday, and although they let us stay home to mark exams and recoup, I had to teach on Wednesday morning and supervise an exam on Wednesday afternoon so no day off for me. I had planned to mark the exams on Tuesday night, but something unexpected happened: Dirk poked his head out of his shell for a few hours, and we had to go to a movie. Hey, we had to. He hasn't gone out with me since September - and that was a free film right across from where he works. We ate overpriced quiche (well, I did) and caught "Adaptation."
(Side note: they cut me off a slice of the wrong quiche, and I was three bites into it when I realized that I was eating ham. Ham! Ham, the most heinous of meats! I mean, there's nothing redeemable about ham. After failing to catch the waitress's eye, I got up and walked to her station. "Is there ham in the vegetable quiche?" I asked. "There shouldn't be," she said, and turned away. Well, that's awfully conclusive.)
I am, by the way, still really enjoying being a vegetarian. For one thing, it really boils down a menu for me. In this particular restaurant, there were only three dishes without meat...and while I like to pretend that I'm sophisticated, I'm not ready to spend 12 dollars on a salad. It was easy to pick the quiche, mediocre though it was. I'm not yet losing weight, but that's another rant.
Okay, so anyway, I was explaining why I didn't get my marking done on Tuesday. I decided to spend my Wednesday morning marking and let the kids come to me with questions if they needed anything. Then, as I was about to get on the highway to Hogsboro, I heard this rattling. I tried my best to ignore it, but it just kept getting louder until I finally had to pull over to the shoulder. I crawled over the passenger seat and took a look. Shredsville. I was driving on a rim. Not really knowing what to do, I called my parents. They told me to call roadside assistance. As I sat on hold, I took a good look at the brochure, then the odometer. I realized that I was 154 km past warranty. Sigh.
Phone call to the parents again. My dad was about to come and pick me up. He called a third cousin with a tow truck, and I settled in to wait in the -23° C morning. At least it was sunny, and at least I had plenty of gas to keep the car heaters running periodically. I read a book I have read many times before, and tried not to get worked up about the passing time. Eventually my dad showed up, the truck showed up, and I was off to school.
I got in to find a note on the board. I have a big movie poster of "Wilde" behind my desk, and the note was an arrow with the notation, "real men don't wear pink." I rounded on the gym teacher minding my room. "You know, real men don't question masculinity based on colour preference." He pleaded ignorance and fled.
At this point I only had about an hour of free time before my afternoon exam began, so I prepared my textbook deficiency lists instead (see above, re: aneurysm). My car still wasn't ready by quitting time, so I had Teresa run me over to my parents' house. Since there was no way for me to get to work the next day if I had gone home, I wisely elected to stay the night. Nic was just heading off to Apotex for a 2-day study, so I could have his bed (always a good thing.) I called the Boy, let him know what had happened, and asked if he'd like to join me in the big sleepover. We spent the night ensconced in flannel splendour, the Boy lulled to sleep by my parents' satellite teevee and myself marking exams until the wee hours.
I wasn't even supposed to be in the next day, but since there was no other time to get my marks in, I had no choice. I have to say, going in for 2 hours, then leaving, takes a lot of the sting out of working. The commute sucked, but everything else was just peachy. I spent the afternoon with my mother, buying some new clothes to fit my (ahem) altered silhouette.
Yesterday I was scheduled for two supervision duties, but on Wednesday I was offered the chance to go to a conference by the same guy who wrote my textbook on classroom management. (I went to another session by him last October, and was very impressed.) I was overjoyed at the opportunity, even though the tone of the offer was extremely condescending and insulting (i.e. they asked everyone else in the English department; then they grudgingly offered me the spot). The conference was terrific. I mean, it was exceptional. I learned a lot about effective methods for concept attainment and I saw one of my very favourite high school English teachers ("What are you doing here?" she said. "I'm an English teacher!" I practically shouted.)
What I did not enjoy was the fact that the librarian and the principal who accompanied me continually bitched about who should really be at that conference: department heads, special education teachers, other English teachers, janitors. Then they would look at me, sigh, and look away. I was extremely pissed by the end of the day, my head swirling with angry retorts bitten back by my better judgement.
I felt insulted on just about every level. Of the ten people who accompanied me to the workshop last October; at least 7 walked away feeling insulted and extremely resistant to this man's ideas. I am the only one - and I do mean the only one - on staff who does not badmouth the principal and her ideas behind her back. My department head is extremely set in his ways and retiring next year. So if she thinks that she could get a group of willing department heads and other "important" staff to attend and implement these wonderful ideas, she's out to lunch. People like me - that is, people who enjoy these sessions and are motivated to follow through with the suggestions - are going to benefit from them, not department heads who are obligated to march in line.
Argh. Fuck. Snuh.
Anyway, that was my week. I'm pleased to say that it was not a particularly bad time, as you may have guessed from the general life trends I have written about until now. I'm still struggling not to eat everything in sight, and I'm still not losing any weight. I think it's time to see my doctor about the side effects of this drug, or at least about effective ways to combat the increased appetite. Because honestly, I'm on antidepressants. I don't need the "solution" to the depression creating another set of conditions that makes me - bing! - incredibly depressed.
