But nowadays, I'm a hamster on a treadmill.
Get up at six. Clear the cobwebs out of the brain in the shower. Shave half-assedly. Glance at the clock, realize there's no time for breakfast, get in the car and go to work at 7.
Unlock the classroom doors for the people who don't have keys. Fall into the chair in the otherwise-silent office and frantically do the marking that didn't get done last night, or run around like crazy getting equipment together.
Have fun with the kids for three hours.*
Rush around during an all-too-brief lunch. Go back to the office and wolf down some lousy leftovers in silence while doing work. Run to the office to grab the afternoon attendance folder.
Have fun with other kids for three hours.*
Sit and collect thoughts for fifteen minutes. Prepare the lesson for tomorrow, photocopy like a madman, make sure everything's set for the next day, and leave at 5 or 6 or 6:30.
Drive home, pick up the mail. Put off making a half-decent dinner at a reasonable hour. Have a lousy dinner at an unreasonable hour. Spend all evening loathing that god damn fucking marking which only piles up and makes things worse the longer it's ignored. Finally get around to the marking, then submit to fatigue and collapse into bed.
Note that the times marked with an asterisk (*) are the only times during the day that I interact with other people face-to-face. And these are people who were two or three years old when Kurt Cobain bit the big one.
August cannot come fast enough.
Remember, J, you actually like teaching. You love it. This "education" thing is your calling in life, if you believed in having a "calling." You'd give your right fucking arm for those kids, and then the left. And you know it.
Well, it feels like I'm giving them what's left of my sanity.
Stick it out, man. Eight more days of classes, then the exam. Then, get ridiculously drunk at Paul's wedding on the 28th. Unleash your revenge on July when it's all over with.
Yeah, that actually sounds like a decent idea. Besides, I look great in a tux, and with all the "liquid courage" I'm bound to have in me at that reception, there's a decent chance I'll make a pass at the bride's hot cousin, or something along those lines.
Given your luck, J, she'll be married to a Hell's Angel.
Cram it, Conscience, and let me get back to these quizzes.