Burn out

I’m just feeling really drained this week. I put a LOT of work into my formal observation with my AP and yet I still don’t feel like it was good enough. I’m redoing one failed project for grad school, AND I have my grad school advisor observing me on Friday. Plus we know the superintendent is coming soon (this has been coming literally for months). And I haven’t even started my big data project for school yet. Ugh.

I’m probably overreacting, and probably being too hard on myself, but damn, I don’t just want to survive, I want to do well. Everyone expects me to be a rock star, and so far I’ve delivered, but it’s like being on an undefeated sports team. It’s a huge pressure to maintain. When you’ve got nowhere to go but down, it can be just as scary as the opposite.

Add to all this the fact that I’m not sure how I’m going to make it to my next paycheck, and my stress level is absurdly high right now.

I really need to go back to recounting what I’m grateful for, because right now it all hurts.

So What’s Your Goal, Ms. S?

One of the teachers must have had the kids do something on goals or resolutions today. So in the midst of the afternoon holiday party, one of the girls asked me “What’s your goal this year, Ms. S?” 

I was stumped.

I have spent the last year and change focusing on getting here. And now I’m here. I mean, of course I want to finish grad school and get my masters, but that’s not so much a goal as it is an eventuality in my mind. And of course the ongoing goal is to constantly become a better teacher. Again, something that’s an eventuality. But, what do I want to DO?

Thanks for making me scratch my head there, kiddo. 

Passing the Baton

relay-batonLast night I had the baton passed to me in grad school. The award device itself is a play on the school’s name (Relay) but the award is interesting.

The first one was given by the staff to one of us, but since then it gets passed each session from one grad student to the next, for exhibiting a number of desirable traits. Among those traits are things like grit, dedication, and so on. Recipients get their picture on our little wall of fame.

Last night I received it for “social intelligence.” I had helped the person who passed it to me revise her teaching demo for an interview. Something others had helped me with in the past, and certainly something I’d helped others with too. What I hadn’t realized at the time was that after going on many (read: 12+) interviews, she had decided that this one was do-or-die: if she didn’t get it, she was leaving the program. Wow, no pressure.

I could have gone the traditional route and gone back to school on my own and hoped to find a job. I went through the Fellows because I wanted… no… I knew I needed the support of a like-minded community. So I do what I can to foster that. And it all comes back in wonderful ways.

Now I need to decide who to pass it to when we reconvene in February. So many wonderful colleagues and friends…

Memo to Your Younger Self

So, this was a meme on Facebook today. You only have two words to say to your younger self. What would you say? 

Most of the replies were silly. One person wrote “Buy Apple,” which is hilarious. What did I write? Nothing. What did I ALMOST write? “Come out.”

Why didn’t I actually write it?

Sometimes I envy people who figured it out early. They didn’t go through the mess of a failed marriage or confusing their loved ones. They knew exactly who they are… or at least, knew enough about themselves to question about it sooner than I did. There’s a kid in the 8th grade that I haven’t been able to nail down the gender of all year. Found out today that’s on purpose – born a boy, but acts/dresses like a girl. Well at least I don’t feel so dumb anymore. Good for you, kid. I was even more encouraged to find that the other kids are accepting. The skeptic in me wonders if that’s because of the insane height difference (this kid is easily 5’9 in middle school) but hey, good is good.

Other times I’m grateful it took me as long as it did to figure it out. Do I wish I could have done it without hurting feelings, paying alimony (yes, I paid HIM) and costing my parents a small fortune on a wedding? Sure. But every experience I’ve gone through – including that one – has made me who I am. 

And I like me.

The Visceral World

I don’t know if it’s normal that I am triggered by smells and touch as much as I am. A single scent can spin my mind back to countless memories. I crave… no I NEED touch. I need the platonic as much as I need the romantic… probably more, actually. It doesn’t need to be a lot – a hello hug, a “you’re being a dope” swat at the arm.

This morning I decided to make a full breakfast – eggs, English muffins and coffee. Those combined smells sent me right back to my parent’s kitchen on a Sunday morning. Particularly the coffee. It’s not like I’ve never drunk coffee before. Heck, we drank it as kids – with a ton of milk of course, but I only recently started drinking it with any sort of regularity. I always liked the smell though, particularly fresh grounds. I used to love opening the packages of coffee at the bagel shop.

I can hardly remember the sound of my grandmother’s voice, but I remember the smell of her perfume. I can clearly recall riding in the back of the car on a winter’s day, snuggling up to her in her big fuzzy coat. It wasn’t real fur, but it was very soft and turned her into the best teddy bear ever.

If I get a whiff of Lagerfeld cologne I can’t help but remember my college boyfriend.

I can smell food and discern the ingredients. And yes, I’ve been called Remy because of it.

 

That can’t be normal… can it?

Gratitudes 11-9-13

I’m grateful that I can be resourceful when I need to. Yay for turning apples about to go bad into applesauce. Turned out pretty damn good too! Wonder if that’s how it got started in the first place…

I’m grateful for hot, hearty food on cold mornings. I do love autumn mornings though.

I’m also grateful for those occasional autumn mornings where I can sleep in (if you can call 7:30 sleeping in). At least, sleeping until sunrise. My bed really is just so comfy.

The Hardest Thing

It’s hard for me to admit I need help. It’s even harder to ask for it. But I’ve had my hand forced.

I’m always the one helping others. Always the rock. Always the reliable one. I’ve literally had people tell me they wish they could be more like me. It’s a lovely compliment, but it just adds to the constant pressure of being me.

That sounds insanely vain and self-centered, I realize that. But I feel like I have this image of me that I’ve built up, and admitting any weakness would shatter that.

But here it is: I’m broke. I have the complete and utter inability to say no to people, and as such I spend money when I know I shouldn’t, at the expense of the inability to pay my bills. I haven’t really adjusted to my new (lower) pay, and I never really recovered from August when I wasn’t working and consequently wasn’t getting paid.

Mom cornered me with it last night, and then finally at T and Boo’s I lost it when I realized I was once again having to choose between groceries and bills this month.

I now have a freezer full of food, a check in my pocket and money on the way from mom. It’s belayed the stress for now and hopefully I can at least get current with everything. *deep breath*

I’m a single, fully employed adult but I can’t keep my head above water? But there’s gotta be a better way…

Rank and certification

I’m discovering the education world can be weird. When I was an apprentice I knew I wasn’t allowed to be in a room alone with the kids. Despite having taught informally for years, supervising teens and all my previous experience, I didn’t have a license yet. That meant that when my cooperating teacher was out, the sub still had to come in. Granted, they let me run the show, but a licensed teacher had to be in the room.

Today I had the first experience of the shoe being on the other foot – I was in the Dean’s office while about half a dozen kids were serving detention – one of whom has a paraprofessional with him. The dean had to run out and take care of something, so he asked me to stay for a few minutes. I didn’t mind but wasn’t sure why he needed me to. It wasn’t until the para pointed out that I had to – because she’s not allowed to be alone with the kids. It was kind of surreal to have this flipped on me. Like I suddenly matter.

I find it odd that a para can be held singly responsible for a special needs student, but can’t babysit a room full of kids in detention. The people who run these after school programs don’t have teaching licenses either, yet they’re in charge of a whole room full of kids. Maybe it’s because it’s no longer officially school at that point? *shrug*