Running on Reserve Power

Within the last two weeks I've developed a sleeping disorder. I get up at 4:30 in the morning and can't fall back asleep. My alarm is set for 6:00. I considered going to a doctor and having her prescribe a sleeping aid, but I figured I'd check with a friend first.

ME: I think I need pills.
HIM: I think you need to go to more ___________ and exercise more. Be at peace. It's the anxiety and fear of what hasn't even happened yet that is keeping you from falling back asleep.
ME: Good advice.

And then I asked my sister.

ME: I think I need pills, but first I think I need to go to more __________ and exercise more. What do you think?
HER: I agree with D__________. I think you need to go to more __________ and exercise more. Also, you could try keeping a notepad next to your bed, and when you wake up, just write down the things that are keeping you awake, like a "To Do" list.
ME: That's very good advice. I think I'll do that.

So a potentially crippling problem was whittled down to a meager speed bump. Besides, who needs all eight hours, anyways? Maybe I do, since my eyes are burning, my legs sore and my head swimmy with dizziness. I'm one of the humans that was built to demand at least seven hours, I know it. My roommate, on the other hand, only needs 5 and a half. I don't know how he does it. I feel like my computer, which just shot a warning at me: "Running on Reserve Battery Power. Save your work!" And then it straight shut down like a narcoleptic. Boom! I need to learn how to do that. Power naps, my dad used to call them.

I'm reading Catcher in the Rye with the kids, and Frankenstein with the grownup kids. It's a close call as to which I'm enjoying teaching more. Both are about the monster within, I suppose. My head feels like a monster, like a patched-on lump from some other being. It's trying to kill me at 4:30 in the morning. I need to go to more __________ and exercise more. Good night.

I Survived Parent Night

They filed into the student parking lot like worker bees, patiently waiting for spots to open, getting to the school early in order to grab a good seat in the gym. Tall, short, old, attractive, homely, businesswomen, homemakers, rich, poor, loud, quiet - they filled our halls and searched for room numbers, familiar faces, teachers to "look out for."

I just talked the entire time, didn't give them a moment to speak or ask questions. Just yammered away about the syllabus and classroom expectations and the Writer's Club I'm overseeing. Some shook their heads, others nodded off, two or three stared at the corner of the room where a cricket was chirping away.

"I've got a rogue cricket on the loose," I joked. About half laughed.

Two parents asked about specific incidents, detentions and grades thus far. I answered them with 8:30pm dry mouth and an eagerness to move on and get home. They got the point: I was going to be in touch throughout the year if needed.

As a first year teacher, this parent night went smooth as ice. So far I feel confident in my ability as an untrained teacher filling the role as the One who is going to teach the kids how to write and communicate effectively. This is, I think, my calling. And perhaps I gave off that vibe tonight. It could have been the tie - anyone will automatically respect a person wearing a tie.

My First Compliment

Today I was told by one of my students that he likes my class the most. "You actually teach," he said. "Usually we just get assessed and that's it." He had no idea how incredible it made me feel. I had been through two and a half weeks of the ringer, and was beginning to feel like the kids didn't like me. Then today, as I was describing Beowulf's stature to them, a moment happened. It was that surge of electricity and awareness that I've heard fighter pilots describe when they shoot down a bogey. The kids were getting it. And they were enjoying it as well. At least, most of them.