march 27, 2002.

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Folks:

I do not hate Xeney. I wrote her a letter two weeks ago to explain this. As I have not yet heard back, and as I get searches every damn day from people trying to find out why I hate Xeney, I thought I should put a pop on the site explaining my position, hate-wise. I hope you'll get to this first.

I do not hate Xeney.

Anything else is between me & her.

Transmission ends.

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* * *

I wanted to call in sick today, although I didn't cry. (So far I've only had one crying spell this week, and that's the way I likes it.) I went in anyway and it was fine. Better than fine, really...SuperTeacher again remarked that she couldn't believe how much I have improved. I have improved: I write better lessons and I'm better at things like organization and sensing the mood of the class. But I was pretty damn good last time too...it's amazing how much better I do with 3 months of desperation under my belt, not to mention innumerable conversations with professors who think I'm a good person/educator. Self-confidence is all, sometimes.

And my confidence has been high this week, mostly because I'm surprising myself with my ability to improvise & freestyle lessons. I write an elaborate lesson plan for every class, but I write them when I'm tired & desperate. When it gets time to stand and deliver, better ideas on treatment of the material arise from unknown depths. Maybe there is something in the whole 2-year degree idea - I seem to have absorbed a lot of practices unconsciously. Yay me.

* * *

My ego got a needed boost in the afternoon during a Health lesson: we all sat in a circle and passed around index cards with class names on them, writing down one anonymous positive thing about the person belonging to the card. I got a few 'cool teacher's, but it was the other comments that surprised me, like ' helpful & creative,' 'great person to be with,' 'has great ideas,' and 'helpful, sincere & a hard worker.' I know that this isn't the measure of my practice, not really...but it's still nice to hear 31 compliments in a row. The card is on my fridge. The confidence is in my fingers and brain.

* * *

Saw my grad picture proofs today. Christ, could I look more like a chipmunk?? At least my hair was puffy enough to balance out my gigantic face for once. And there are two or three shots that I could bear to see on a living room wall in the future. I guess.

The funny part is that unbeknownst to me, the Boy changed the monitor display to 256 colours ...so when the slideshow began, I appeared in hideous shades of grey and blue and crimson. Much like the figure of death in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner, actually:

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she
Who thicks man's blood with cold.