I feel discombobulated this week.

I suppose I could chalk it up to the whole hour change thing, being unused to the strange light in the morning and having blue skies until long after suppertime. Which in turn tweaks my little inner clock and keeps me up way past midnight. I have been  relentlessly puttering in my room, or writing, then deleting, and rewriting posts long into the night. And then deleting them again.

Yeah. Whoa.

The strange thing is, I feel this malingering hyper-anxiety. I'm generally kicking ass  at getting things done this week, cracking the whip in the Art Room, preparing for the big show, efficiently and systematically handling my schiznat, but it seems to be all in a panic. Like my pants are on fire or something. I am flaming-pants girl! For someone like me, with the  attention span of an enraptured  boulder,* this is very disconcerting. I can't stick to one thing for three minutes without flying off in a tizzy. Nor can i recall what I had just been doing a moment before.

For instance, today I was up in the staff lounge busily arranging my doctor's appointment with my mum, juggling with my checking account, yet again faxing comcast (bastards!) to get my money back, and cutting out bits of colored paper. All at once! A marvelous crackdown on the to-do-list for the day. I was clomping back down to my classroom, congratulating myself on my stellar efficiency, when i realized that it was nearly eleven and I had completely forgotten my 10:45 class.  Fortunately the clever little monkeys were already there with my assistant, so all turned out rather well, but damn!! I am a flaming fruitcake! 

I really feel as though I should not be let out of my house, at least until the season passes. I'm almost afraid to go to work. Who would like to volunteer to  pretend to be my mum, and call in "flaky" for me tomorrow?

* Me, in a staring contest with a rock:

I won.

Learn.

I think I look teacher-y in this picture. It's a funny thing, that- if anyone had told me three years ago that I'd be hanging around little kids this much, actually making a dent in some of their intellects and showing them how to do or make something, I would have thought they had gone crazy. But there I am, looking the part. When did I grow up all of a sudden? I've actually been known to sternly send people to the Office For Disrupting My Class. I have a special Teacher-Voice I use when I want things Done. And I find divine pleasure in seeing one of the kiddoes learn something they've never known before. Today one of the littler ones stopped by my room after school to say 'bye for the day, and asked where I went to sleep at night; as if I never left the art room, or went grocery shopping, or did anything other than dole out paint and glitter. It's an absolute scandal when I'm spotted by one of them up the street from school on the weekend. Because teachers don't do ordinary things, do you remember that? When you are small, we are superbeings to you, we bestow little classroom mercies on the studious and inflict our wrath on the unruly, we are the final word, we are a wealth of knowledge.

I try to remember what it was like to be a kid, and how I percieved grownups, especially at school. They were often absolute tyrants. But I remember some teachers who were different, and made an impact on my life. I try to draw from the things they did. I've stolen plenty of lesson plans from recollections of my third-grade art teacher, remembering the things my young hands liked to make back then, or what I liked thinking about, or the things I wanted. She encouraged me, and made me want to know more. I remember the teachers who were kind and patient, or funny, who gave a little leeway or extra help, or teased us and then joked about their own failings. The ones who defied the rules a little bit, brought the class outside on nice days, or taught while perched cross legged on a desk. The teachers who wore crazy clothes, or gave everyone a goofy nickname.  Who realized when it was a bad day, and forgave missing homework without a word; those who started conversations and debates, who stayed after class to help out, who joined in games at recess. Who remembered what it is to be a kid, and showed us how to be good grownups.  Those are the ones i remember. I hope my kids will think of me that way, someday.

So thank you, to my teachers:

Mrs. Wheeler, Mrs. Buteau, Mrs. Hosmer, Mr. Anastopoulis, Mrs. Johnson, Mr. Murphy, Ms. Bets, Mrs. McKay, Mr. Nacke, and Mrs. Washburn. 

Fame

This has got to be brief and uneloquent, because I'm supposed to make a glorious appearance at a faboo dance party in a bit. I've already got my legwarmers on, and tonight I'm gonna rock the 80's punkass glam queen look. I always wanted to be on Fame as a kid, and now's my chance to at least look the part.

I'm gonna live for-ever! I'm gonna learn how to fly!! FAME!!!

Speaking of dance, thursday evening was interesting. I signed up a week or so ago for a modern dance class in Cambridge, hoping to learn something about dancing, and get a little stronger and more poised. Turns out, I got myself into some airy fairy crystal-licking-good scenario with a fruity dance teacher who forced me to discover my "inner axis of light". Apparently,. unbeknownst to me, it shoots straight up to the celestial heavens, and outward from my inner self. I also had to do some dumb crap like "hand my ball of energy to a trusted friend" and "visualize a centering gemstone in my tummy".  And then they wouldn't even let me wear my stripey socks. So, by the end of the night i was plie-ing like a pro, but had developed a reputation for being the snarky antithesis to our flaky teacher, and had everyone else snickering. I am a bad little ballerina.

So, off I go. Off to be fantabulous once again! I leave y'all with a little something to listen to, which could either be good hangover music, or on a rainy day soundtrack.

Sufjan Stevens

edit:

Apparently, post-armageddon penguins think I am brilliant.

Who will you be stuck with at end of time? by chi_a_baidh
Your name is
Your sex is	MaleFemaleUndecided
Your favorite color is	RedOrangeYellowGreenBluePurpleBlackWhiteOther
You are stuck there because	the penguins saved you
For _____ years	95
With
He/She will think you are	clever
You will	make a coconut radio
Created with quill18's MemeGen 3.0!