I walk my usual circles around the gym. One of my students throws baskets, missing most of them, grabbing the ball, going again against no one.
Another student wanted to talk to me about how fast his heart had beat that day, and how he was scared of having a heart attack.
I did not slap him across the face and say, you’re not going to have a fucking heart attack, get over it, I said, yeah, it’s usually good that our brains worry about our health, but sometimes it goes too far, right?
Because my students were writing raps, I decided it was okay that they were playing beats and rapping along, and I decided to only hand out the wages-of-cussing sheets when the cussing was outside the raps.
I DIDN’T EVEN CUSS THAT MUCH
I was formatting comprehension questions to teach The Outsiders next year. This was the second book I had decided we should read next year, and who knows if it will make the cut. I may wake up and accept that too many kids read that book in 8th grade. Who knows.
It soothes me to do something that could be useful next year, like search for images that illustrate our vocabulary words, or renumbering long lists of questions. When the numbers restart with each chapter, the kids will not easily find where we are. It’s better if there are 40 questions for the novel, numbered 1-40.
Unless I decide to set things up day by day so the kids can….
That’s how my mind works.
It’s busy.
It’s most important just to do something to keep the momentum of my brain churning. Even if it turns out to be useless.
Around lunchtime, my colleague said, I’m going to throw up, and then did.
It’s okay, I said, I have a strong stomach.
That’s a nice way to say that, isn’t it? My stomach doesn’t ask to puke unless it really needs to. Unlike my nervous system, it doesn’t do false alarms.
I’m worried about getting cancer, Ms Schurman, my student continued.
The basketball came my way, and I pulled up my reading glasses and caught it, and threw it back to the kid.
Here, another kid said, and handed me a bouncy ball. I got this for you.
Thanks, I said. Cool.
The lion prowled and ravaged the deer, a student said. For two vocabulary words used right, two starbursts are earned. I buy only reds, to avoid the cries of deeply wounded children, “Can I have a red?”
I used to be a real stickler about kids getting whatever flavor they got, but now I have so few students, I realized it’s actually okay for me to do exchanges. Just no refunds.
I spend a lot of time, this time of year, being angry that I’m so tired. It’s a weird combination. The weather doesn’t help. Every year, when the weather is at its prettiest, I am slightly annoyed, because often I only have the energy to put on a tv show and close my eyes.
I go into Aldi to buy my third 10 pound bag of potting soil, and think, this is an impressive investment in spring. They have marked down five hanging plants to 99 cents. Now, they don’t have blossoms, but man, they’re plants. I pick up two and traverse the Aldi treasures aisle. Flower boxes! That will fasten to my balcony! I take one to the cashier. He tells me it is $10. I am in Aldi heaven. I return to my plants and my dirt, and a lady is standing there, and says, “Oh, was this yours?” I say yes, and she says she’s sorry, and then she says she bought those hanging plants for $8, and she’s gonna show them her receipt and get $7 back, and I’m like, you are on it! Good for you!
The checker rings me up, and as I’m walking to the car, I realize he’s overcharged me for one of the sale plants.
I put the stuff in the backseat of my car, and ponder: it’s $7. Am I rich enough to disregard $7? I’d like to be, but I’m probably not. I go back in, and the cashier checks my receipt, and pulls the difference he owes me out of the drawer.
This would be a great scam, I think, as I leave, greeting the security guard. If I could ever scam anyone. I think there are many large corporations I’d be happy to scam, but I can’t handle the anxiety of deception.
I already have to deceive students who need someone to talk to, act like I want to talk with them, see the self who is kind and generous and pull her in to talk to the kid.
The end of the school year is a lot of pretending. Teachers pretend to give the kids work, kids pretend to do it, teachers pretend to care about following through with discipline as they follow through with discipline, and everyone pretends that there is no momentous emotional thing happening, just the few days at the end of another year.
Image: Road in Etten, Vincent Van Gogh, 1881.
Going On 