… and “I’m really struggling. “ That’s what I said and then I started crying. The crying where you’re not totally sure where it’s coming from. And you’re embarassed because you’re around your peers and your IA and you feel really vulnerable. And you’re embarassed. Like, “I’m better than this.” And you’re thinking of other things, not just things at work. And you’re stressed, and tired, and you didn’t sign up kids for tutoring and who the hell really cares anyway?
And you still haven’t fill out the forms. And you need a folder for each student? Really??! So for A, I’m going to put a post-it and say, “she always does all her work and she’s really sweet.” And for G, I’ll stick a note in there on his SE paperwork and say “he’s doing fine in here. He does better when he gets to sit at the big table by himself.” And E and J might both get the “really smart, but doesn’t apply him/her self.”
And people are asking all these questions about U and you just don’t know and you’ve stopped caring about it. And your room is a mess and you can’t get organized and the papers keep piling up. And you hate the way the desks are organized. But you can’t fix them now because they’re taking tests. Yes, already. And, no, I haven’t been teaching, either.
And all the shit hits the fan and you’re finally allowed to let it all down and the tears start. And you wonder what people wonder about you. You wonder if they think you are a weakling who can’t make it through the first 4 weeks.
And maybe it’s because you’re on the verge of sick, and maybe you haven’t gotten enough sleep as you need, even though you’re in bed at a semi-decent time. And maybe it’s the fact that your period is almost over. And maybe it is the stuff going on with and to friends. And maybe it really was just a moment of weakness. And you wonder why your body aches, even though you have no other symptoms of anything.
The kids? They’re awesome. Besides those few pesky kids in that one pesky class, they’re great. They’re how they’re supposed to be. Constant juxtapositions. They’re anxious and excited. And they care and they don’t. They’re curious and think life is boring. They’re excited and too cool to show emotions. They walk in crying and you don’t know why. They leave smiling because the nurse deemed it appropriate and you have many, many kids gone.
That’s really what I care about. It really is. It’s them. I might just be in a moment of weakness. But I know it’ll pass. I know it will go by, and I know this is just a moment of weakness. Just a moment.
