Yet again, I am sitting in my freezing classroom waiting for Rachel to be ready to go home, and trying to bring myself out of the dreary mood I am currently in. My day didn't go particularly bad, though I wouldn't necessarily say it was the best either.
I started the day off on the bad foot though. I had my alarm set for 6am, as I had hoped to wake up early, have a shower, and then perhaps curl my hair. I don't usually curl my hair on a weekday, but I felt like putting in a little extra effort. As my alarm gentle prodded me out of sleep this morning, I was overcome with the most soul-crushing desire to never leave my bed. I blindly batted the shelf about my head, searching for my phone (which acts as my alarm). When my fingers finally rested on it, I instinctively, without looking, mashed the snooze button. Pulling the covers over my head, I nestled in further, refusing to allow myself to wake.
Twenty minutes later, the alarm alerted me again. Realizing that I would no longer be able to curl my hair, I cursed my own laziness and reluctantly hauled myself out of bed. The walk to the bathroom, though short, was torture. My house is, like my classroom, unseasonably cold in the morning. I think that my room mates turn the heater off a night, to save energy. Cheap bastards. My shower was long and steamy, as I took my time washing up. I even shaved my legs in their entirety, in a prolonged effort to stay in the shower. Eventually I ran out of things to do, and sadly departed from the shower.
Getting dressed seemed to take ages, as I couldn't properly decide what to wear. I wanted to leave most of my 'nicer' clothes for the weekend, and was therefore left with the scrubby rejects. Feeling even more dejected, I put together a rather bland outfit. I tied on a pretty scarf to try to spice it up a bit, but wasn't thoroughly impressed. A sub-par effort, if I'd ever seen one.
Next I tackled my hair. It was the only thing that went my way, and I was fairly pleased with the result; a smooth and shiny layer of blond locks cascading down my back and over my shoulders. My hair is finally starting to get to a decent length, and impresses me most days. It just needs a colouring. I'll work on that soon.
Anyways, I got into school this morning feeling a bit rubbish as a result of my lackluster start. I went through the paces at the staff briefing, gulped down my coffee, and then collected my tutor group for our Thursday morning Orwell House assembly. I was horrified to have to sit through a twenty minute assembly on God. Hearing the very mention of God in a public school is beyond shocking for me, coming from the Canadian system. You don't talk about religion in a public school in Canada; it's just not done. Especially not at an assembly. That's what Catholic schools are for. They can cram the religion down your throat, but at least you have to choose to be there. I disagreed immensely with the assembly this morning. It felt like they were throwing God at me, and I wasn't buying into it. The kids also looked slightly uncomfortable sometimes, which made it worse. It was just a bizarre experience. I almost walked out, when one of the presenters started talking about 'thinking for yourself, by following God'. Seems a bit contradictory, no?
Anyways, having choked my way through the assembly, I prepared myself for the rest of my day. It went fairly smoothly. My 8s were a bit off the wall, but nothing I couldn't handle. My top set 11s were decent enough, though they weren't too thrilled at the prospect of doing Poetry for the rest of the term. Too bad for them! I did manage to get quite a few amazing drawings out of them though, as a response to Helene Johnson's 'Sonnet to a Negro in Harlem'. I've got some artists in my class, it would seem. I was impressed. I read the first chapter of 'Of Mice and Men' to my bottom year 11s. I can honestly say it was the first time they'd been quiet for an entire class period. Ever. It was so nice, really. Reading, for me, is very relaxing, so reading aloud to them was a delight. They were also following along, as I could hear them turning the pages as I did. This is a definite improvement over their usual performance; I didn't have to nag anyone to stay on task! They also answered my questions after, with genuinely good answers. I couldn't ask for more.
My 10s were a bit of a struggle, but I got them in the end. The fact that they clearly respect me helps a lot, so I was able to use the respect card to get them back on track.
The biggest surprise of the day was my 9s though. They were, shock of all shocks, actually fairly well behaved for me today. There was a bizarre incident though, before class started...
...one of the boys, who always arrives early, walked into the room and said, 'Oh, Miss Carson! I am surprised to see you here. There were rumours that you'd been sacked!'
'Excuse me?!' I asked, whirling around to face him. I was truly shocked to hear this, as it was definitely news to me.
'Yah, people were saying you got sacked,' he said, as if it were no big deal.
'Who? Who has been saying that?' I prodded.
'Oh...I dunno...just lots of people,' he said.
'Students, or teachers?' I asked.
'Oh....students...' he said, clearly getting a bit uncomfortable.
I decided to leave him alone, 'Weird. Well, I haven't been sacked, cuz here I am!'
A few other students walked in, all expressing surprise to see me.
'Miss! If you'd been sacked, I would have staged a protest!' one of the boys said.
I smiled, glad to hear that I had some supporters. I had to spend a few minutes assuring the class I hadn't been sacked, and then carried on with the lesson.
We're doing persuasion, so I had them watch Obama's acceptance speech in Chicago and analyse the effectiveness of his speech. I was happy to see them able to pick out all the effective elements of his speech. I think we had one of our most productive lessons to date. For the first time ever they left the room without me feeling as if nothing had been accomplished. I think it's also the first Thursday since I've come here that I haven't felt totally frazzled at the end of the day. What a welcome change. I can only hope that things will continue on this way.
The decent-ness of my day did not, however, push away the pervasive feeling of gloom that'd been hanging over me all day. I just feel utterly exhausted, and I'm not really sure why. Perhaps it's just that time of year. I feel mentally drained, and it's starting to affect me physically. I find myself wishing away the days, hoping for Christmas and the return trip to my family to come sooner.
Sitting here at the end of the day, I was trying to think of things I could do to give myself the relief I crave, when it struck me that I've been missing something simple. I've been missing the simple act of picking up my kitty, Gabriel, and being able to hug him and feel instantly better. It's one thing to hug a person and get that release, but its something totally different when it's a pet. I remember reading somewhere that old age homes and hospitals that allow pets to visit with the patients see a marked improvement in attitude. Animals somehow bring out a happy feeling within us. Maybe it's because they love us unconditionally, or maybe it's just that we crave something small to hold against our bodies sometimes. For me, I know I like to bury my nose in the soft, warm fuzz on the top of Gabriel's head and just breath in. That may sound bizarre, but it's strangely relaxing for me. He's such a fluffy kitty, so holding him is like holding a big puffy lump of warmth. Mind you, he's got quite a lot of attitude, and doesn't stand to be held for long by ANYONE, myself included. When push comes to shove though, he could always tell when I needed to be able to smother him with hugs and kisses, and grudgingly allowed me to do so. No one else, my mother aside, has been able to do this to him, so I think it's because I'm his 'Mama'.
Anyways, today I really realized how much I missed doing that. I wish I could go home right now, walk through my door, and call out 'Gabriel!'. He'd come running down, I'd scoop him up, and bury my face in his, smelling the dewy soft scent that is the top of his head. Oh how I miss that.
I only hope that in the months since I've been gone he hasn't forgotten me. It would crush me to go home and have him growl and hiss at me as he does most other people. My fingers are crossed that my scent and my voice remain embedded in his deep subconscious, and that hearing and smelling me will trigger instant recognition. They say cats have a terrible memory, so I truly am hoping that his inner instinct will work in my favour.
Honestly, the first thing I do when I enter the house in Tillsonburg is going to be to call his name and hunt him down. He owes me a hug, and I intend to collect.
Anyways, I am going to try to persuade Rachel to hit the road soon. I don't relish being here much longer; it's already 5:30 and it's not getting any earlier. Besides, I have a dinner to make tonight, for a very lovely young man, and I'd like to get started on that as soon as possible.
Cheers.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
On Killing Time At School
I'm sitting in my classroom, and it's 5:07. I'm waiting patiently for Rachel to finish marking up some exams, whilst freezing my ass off. I'm not entirely sure why, but it seems as if the temperature in my room is constantly evading my comfort zone. It's either ridiculously hot and stuffy in here, or else bone chillingly cold. There is no happy medium, rather just a constant fluctuation that annoys me (and my students) to no end. Tonight it seems worse than usual though. My finger tips are actually a touch purple, which is never a good sign. That is why I decided to try updating the blog. A steady stream of blood to my fingers, spurned on by the insane pace at which I type, should help induce some warmth. My toes, however, are a lost cause.
In fact, it was just the other day that I realize that my feet are being left literally in the cold these days. It appears that with all my planning and packing, I've failed to sufficiently provide for my feet. The shoes I brought over were summer shoes, no doubt about it. Cute flats, a crummy pair of slip on trainers (that my mates affectionately call the ugliest shoes in the world, bless), and my tried-and-true red patent leather peep toes. Not the type of shoes that would see you through winter, in any country. No, I clearly was not thinking in terms of the distant future; winter.
I was watching Jason play football on Saturday, when I was struck with the complexity of my situation. It was minus SOMETHING for sure, and sitting on a bench watching the game was hell on earth (if hell happens to be an extremely cold place instead of extremely hot. It's a place of extremes, and that's all that matters). For all my bragging about being a 'tough and hearty' Canadian girl, it didn't take me long to admit that I was freezing my ass, and in this case toes, off. the flimsy little brown flats that I was wearing were doing nothing by way of protecting my toes from the elements. I tried in vain to position myself so that my feet were covered by some part of my body. I tried folding my legs up and sitting on them, but this was only comfortable for about five minutes before the bones in my heels started to dig into me. I tried to sit cross-legged on the bench, only to realize that sitting in this position is only feasible for children. Apparently I can't stretch well that way any more. It felt like I was going to pull my groin out, not to mention the fact that my tailbone was effectively placed in the most uncomfortable position ever; directly on the hard wooden slab that was my seat. I didn't last long sitting that way, that's for sure. I even took off my scarf, and wrapped it around my feet, in what surely must have made me look mildly retarded. Again, this did not provide me with the comfort I sought.
Instead, I took to bouncing my feet up and down off the pavement, in an attempt to get the warmth of my blood flowing to them. This tactic worked somewhat, but it still did not keep my feet from feeling detached from my body at the end of two and a half hours.
The entire time I was jiggling my feet, the thought of my lusciously padded Emu's was swimming through my head. I recalled a time last year, in Thunder Bay, when my previous winter boots and succumbed to the harsh realities of a true Canadian winter. The zipper had split down the side, as I tried to cram my increasingly warmth-protected feet and lower calf into them. Turns out those boots could only accept my bare leg, and not the jean and long-john clad one I tried to stuff into them. Shame, really, as they were a rather cute pair of boots.
The Emu's had been purchased after hours of deliberation in the Mall in Thunder Bay. Faced with -50 degree temperatures, I simply could not brave the elements without the best in foot protection. I looked at a few pair of Uggs, and nearly bought some, but the Emu's offered me something the Uggs could not; a stylish lace up look. The laces, I reckoned, would allow me to wear as many layers on my bottom half as was necessary. No bursting zippers here! I remember sinking my feet into the thick sheep's wool lining of the boots, and feeling an instant surge of heat. They were the toastiest thing I'd ever experienced. They were Divine. I laced up both pairs, and sauntered around the store, getting a real feel for the boots. My feet, even in my socks, felt as if they were snuggled deep within the bouncy, springy, soft confines of a sheep's back. I cooed at the way they looked on me in the mirror, and instantly was sold.
The true test was wearing them out of the store. Would they withstand the cold temperatures? Turns out they did, and then some. I was never with cold feet last winter. It was a delight.
It was these thoughts that were swimming through my head as I was shuffling my feet in vain. Why, oh why, hadn't I thought to bring my boots with me? My feet were screaming there discontent at me, as was my brain. Silly, silly girl. I suppose that's just my punishment though, for assuming that England wasn't nearly cold enough to warrant Emu's. All I know for certain is that they will be lodged solidly on my feet for the return flight. I want my first steps back in England in January to be in my snuggly warm Emu's.
But enough reminiscing....
Things are going relatively well at school. I feel like I am finally getting into the swing of things with my groups. They're finally, for the most part, starting to respect me. This means that they're actually taking what I say seriously, and participating more in lesson. It was a constant struggle last term, as you are likely well aware. Students are finally getting to know me, on a personal level as well, and I them. More and more of them are stopping in after classes to talk to me. This makes me feel well liked, as I rarely stayed after to talk to my own teachers, unless I a) liked them and b) felt comfortable with them. The only downside to this is that I think some of them like me a touch too much; not necessarily on a 'romantic' level (though some do, I'm told), but on a 'friend' level. I had always hoped to come across as a friendly, approachable teacher, but had hoped that I could draw the line at 'being a friend'. It has not,nor never will be, my intention to befriend the students. As a professional, it's impossible to be an effective teacher and their friend. You just lose too much authority in the process of becoming a friend. Some of my students, though, are increasinly telling me a tad too much. I won't get into it here, for privacy's sake, but some of them tell me things I don't really want to hear. These aren't things that are alarming on a safety level, but are more alarming on a 'shit, I don't want to know you're into that stuff at your age' level. Mind you, I was likely into at least SOME of the stuff they're on about when I was their age. Or perhaps not. I'm not sure, and frankly I would rather not go there.
I have, however, had more than one student come to me and tell me things about other teachers that is not very professional to hear. I make absolutly no comments back, either for or against what they say, but I still feel like it puts me in an awkward position. I don't really relish the idea of hearing students bitch and moan about my co-workers, and I certainly cannot comment on what the students are saying, as that would be 100% unprofessional of me. I also cannot, in good conscience, take their word over that of the people I work with. Rest assured, nothing they say is incriminating, but they do a great disservice to my co-workers on a personal level. It's a tad awkward to listen to, but in most cases I turn off my ears and then switch the topic of conversation. As much as I like to hear that I'm a well liked teacher, I don't like to hear it at the expense of my friends and collegues.
Well, I do believe that Rachel is ready to depart now, which means I must log off! I will try to update this a bit more frequently, but really it's all a matter of when time affords me the opportunity of leisure.
Until then, cheers!
In fact, it was just the other day that I realize that my feet are being left literally in the cold these days. It appears that with all my planning and packing, I've failed to sufficiently provide for my feet. The shoes I brought over were summer shoes, no doubt about it. Cute flats, a crummy pair of slip on trainers (that my mates affectionately call the ugliest shoes in the world, bless), and my tried-and-true red patent leather peep toes. Not the type of shoes that would see you through winter, in any country. No, I clearly was not thinking in terms of the distant future; winter.
I was watching Jason play football on Saturday, when I was struck with the complexity of my situation. It was minus SOMETHING for sure, and sitting on a bench watching the game was hell on earth (if hell happens to be an extremely cold place instead of extremely hot. It's a place of extremes, and that's all that matters). For all my bragging about being a 'tough and hearty' Canadian girl, it didn't take me long to admit that I was freezing my ass, and in this case toes, off. the flimsy little brown flats that I was wearing were doing nothing by way of protecting my toes from the elements. I tried in vain to position myself so that my feet were covered by some part of my body. I tried folding my legs up and sitting on them, but this was only comfortable for about five minutes before the bones in my heels started to dig into me. I tried to sit cross-legged on the bench, only to realize that sitting in this position is only feasible for children. Apparently I can't stretch well that way any more. It felt like I was going to pull my groin out, not to mention the fact that my tailbone was effectively placed in the most uncomfortable position ever; directly on the hard wooden slab that was my seat. I didn't last long sitting that way, that's for sure. I even took off my scarf, and wrapped it around my feet, in what surely must have made me look mildly retarded. Again, this did not provide me with the comfort I sought.
Instead, I took to bouncing my feet up and down off the pavement, in an attempt to get the warmth of my blood flowing to them. This tactic worked somewhat, but it still did not keep my feet from feeling detached from my body at the end of two and a half hours.
The entire time I was jiggling my feet, the thought of my lusciously padded Emu's was swimming through my head. I recalled a time last year, in Thunder Bay, when my previous winter boots and succumbed to the harsh realities of a true Canadian winter. The zipper had split down the side, as I tried to cram my increasingly warmth-protected feet and lower calf into them. Turns out those boots could only accept my bare leg, and not the jean and long-john clad one I tried to stuff into them. Shame, really, as they were a rather cute pair of boots.
The Emu's had been purchased after hours of deliberation in the Mall in Thunder Bay. Faced with -50 degree temperatures, I simply could not brave the elements without the best in foot protection. I looked at a few pair of Uggs, and nearly bought some, but the Emu's offered me something the Uggs could not; a stylish lace up look. The laces, I reckoned, would allow me to wear as many layers on my bottom half as was necessary. No bursting zippers here! I remember sinking my feet into the thick sheep's wool lining of the boots, and feeling an instant surge of heat. They were the toastiest thing I'd ever experienced. They were Divine. I laced up both pairs, and sauntered around the store, getting a real feel for the boots. My feet, even in my socks, felt as if they were snuggled deep within the bouncy, springy, soft confines of a sheep's back. I cooed at the way they looked on me in the mirror, and instantly was sold.
The true test was wearing them out of the store. Would they withstand the cold temperatures? Turns out they did, and then some. I was never with cold feet last winter. It was a delight.
It was these thoughts that were swimming through my head as I was shuffling my feet in vain. Why, oh why, hadn't I thought to bring my boots with me? My feet were screaming there discontent at me, as was my brain. Silly, silly girl. I suppose that's just my punishment though, for assuming that England wasn't nearly cold enough to warrant Emu's. All I know for certain is that they will be lodged solidly on my feet for the return flight. I want my first steps back in England in January to be in my snuggly warm Emu's.
But enough reminiscing....
Things are going relatively well at school. I feel like I am finally getting into the swing of things with my groups. They're finally, for the most part, starting to respect me. This means that they're actually taking what I say seriously, and participating more in lesson. It was a constant struggle last term, as you are likely well aware. Students are finally getting to know me, on a personal level as well, and I them. More and more of them are stopping in after classes to talk to me. This makes me feel well liked, as I rarely stayed after to talk to my own teachers, unless I a) liked them and b) felt comfortable with them. The only downside to this is that I think some of them like me a touch too much; not necessarily on a 'romantic' level (though some do, I'm told), but on a 'friend' level. I had always hoped to come across as a friendly, approachable teacher, but had hoped that I could draw the line at 'being a friend'. It has not,nor never will be, my intention to befriend the students. As a professional, it's impossible to be an effective teacher and their friend. You just lose too much authority in the process of becoming a friend. Some of my students, though, are increasinly telling me a tad too much. I won't get into it here, for privacy's sake, but some of them tell me things I don't really want to hear. These aren't things that are alarming on a safety level, but are more alarming on a 'shit, I don't want to know you're into that stuff at your age' level. Mind you, I was likely into at least SOME of the stuff they're on about when I was their age. Or perhaps not. I'm not sure, and frankly I would rather not go there.
I have, however, had more than one student come to me and tell me things about other teachers that is not very professional to hear. I make absolutly no comments back, either for or against what they say, but I still feel like it puts me in an awkward position. I don't really relish the idea of hearing students bitch and moan about my co-workers, and I certainly cannot comment on what the students are saying, as that would be 100% unprofessional of me. I also cannot, in good conscience, take their word over that of the people I work with. Rest assured, nothing they say is incriminating, but they do a great disservice to my co-workers on a personal level. It's a tad awkward to listen to, but in most cases I turn off my ears and then switch the topic of conversation. As much as I like to hear that I'm a well liked teacher, I don't like to hear it at the expense of my friends and collegues.
Well, I do believe that Rachel is ready to depart now, which means I must log off! I will try to update this a bit more frequently, but really it's all a matter of when time affords me the opportunity of leisure.
Until then, cheers!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
On the Hunt Being On
The hunt is officially on. For what, you ask? A new place to live, in Cambridge. Yes. You've read right, my dears. I'm planning on making the momentous leap into big city life. Some of you may be wondering why. My response can be summed up in one word: convenience. Ever since I made friends with the staff, I've been out in Cambridge nearly every weekend. It was always a bit of a hassle, because I had to mooch a place to spend the night off of my co-workers. This didn't always end up working out too pleasantly, and I had more than my fair share of awkward moments. Anyways, over the past few weeks, I've spend an ever increasing amount of time in the city, not just on weekends. As such, the cost of commuting as started to outweigh itself in simplicity. I've had to catch a few cabs home, at the hefty cost of thirty pounds. If you convert that into Canadian dollars, it's around sixty bucks. For a ride that costs 6 bucks Canadian via the bus. Talk about a gigantic rip off. They hose you for everything you're worth in this country.
But I digress. The point is, while I can afford to keep commuting to my 'life' outside of school, I am putting my foot down, and refusing to do it. That is why, starting just the other day, I am actively searching for a new place to live in Cambridge.
I must admit, however, that my knowledge of the area outside the city centre is lacking immensely. Lucky for me, I've got a lovely boy who can help me pinpoint the location of prospective places. I'll also try to get him to come view a few places with me, should I ever reach that stage in the renting process. I'm picky, so I rarely agree to view a place unless I've been swept away. You've got to have the right feeling for it! It's kind of like dating; if you don't feel the initial spark of interest, there's no sense wasting your time!
I'm hoping to move after Christmas, but you never know. It could very well take longer (though I certainly hope that it doesn't, for a number of reasons). It would just be ridiculously convenient, and frankly a lot for fun, if I were located in Cambridge. The only downside is that, should I live close to the city centre, I will be tempted to shop more than I already am. Bad combination. Very bad, indeed.
I'll just try to limit my shopping addiction, that's all. I'll see what I can do. With Christmas coming up, and so many lovely people to buy presents for, it's a touch hard.
But anyways. Enough of that.
I haven't talked about school lately, so perhaps I should provide a brief update in that avenue.
Things have been going fairly well since half term ended. I really feel I came to a turning point with my year 10s. I won some of their respect, in allowing them to listen to their iPods while doing individual work. The only problem with that is that they try to put them in during group work, or even when I am talking, and I have to crack the whip and get them to put them away. However, I can't let them push me around, so I should really take no issue with having to constantly reprimand them for improper iPod use. Frankly, I could get into a lot of trouble with the school, should they find out I'm breaking the iPod rule. But it really does get the kids to work quietly during individual learning time, so I don't want to give it up. I had the assistant head principal sit in on a lesson with my 10s before the break, and they were absolute angels. Someone once told me that you can always tell whether a class likes you by how they behave when someone else is in the room. If they know its an important thing for you, and they like you, they will be on their best behaviour. If they don't give two shits about you, they will carry on like normal. If that is true, than I have to take their behaviour to mean they do like and respect me...they've just got a weird way of showing it.
My year 9s continue to be my problem class. The last lesson I had them, they would not settle down. When I tried to do a group discussion, they went absolutely ape shit. I had to shut off the lights, raise my voice, and threaten them with after school detentions in order to get them to work as I wanted them to. It's a constant frustration to me, as I don't think I should have to threaten them to get them to work. That said, again, when someone is observing me in lesson, they act like civilized beings...so they must, on some bizarre level, like me a little.
I was off 'sick' yesterday (mental health day...heh heh), and was told this morning that my 9s were the worst behaved children the supply had ever experienced. She told me that if she had to deal with those kids every day, she'd be handing in her notice and quitting. She asked me, with real concern in her eyes, if they were like that every lesson. I kind of smiled at her knowingly, shook my head in the affirmative, and told her I was a very strong woman. She laughed, and agreed wholeheartedly. I can only hope she goes to the department head, and lets her know exactly what type of children I deal with, because I think sometimes she doesn't believe they're that bad. I think she thinks if SHE had them, she could tame them. I think she's wrong. But then again, what do I know?
My 11s are alright. The top set ones, anyways. We've been doing exam preparation, which is INSANELY boring bookwork...there really is no way to jazz it up...and they've been, for the most part, taking it seriously. Hopefully they do well on the exams; that'd make ME look good, as a teacher. Fingers crossed. My bottom set, however, are likely to all bomb it, with the exception of perhaps two girls and one of the boys. They don't take any of the prep work I do seriously, and only do it half assed. In fact, its not even half an effort they give. For a response that requires a good solid 5 paragraph essay response, they write down 5 basic sentences, and then moan the rest of the period about how 'boring' my lessons are. Ugh. They are in for a rude awakening after the exams, that's for damn sure. I hope their parents care. They should.
My 8s, as per usual, are little dolls. They listen to me, do my lessons, and are generally sweethearts. I maintain my position on wishing to teach only year 8s and 7s in the future. They are the perfect age, and I would take on all the 8s and 7s at a school, just to not have to teach any of the other year groups.
But that's just selfish, isn't it? Everyone needs a challenge now and again. Even....me...unfortunately.
Hmm. Well, I have definitely yammered on enough for one evening. I am deathly tired, for some reason, and plan to hit the sheets shortly. I need a day of solid sleep, I think, to rest up my weary head. I think too much. It's a curse, really.
Cheers.
But I digress. The point is, while I can afford to keep commuting to my 'life' outside of school, I am putting my foot down, and refusing to do it. That is why, starting just the other day, I am actively searching for a new place to live in Cambridge.
I must admit, however, that my knowledge of the area outside the city centre is lacking immensely. Lucky for me, I've got a lovely boy who can help me pinpoint the location of prospective places. I'll also try to get him to come view a few places with me, should I ever reach that stage in the renting process. I'm picky, so I rarely agree to view a place unless I've been swept away. You've got to have the right feeling for it! It's kind of like dating; if you don't feel the initial spark of interest, there's no sense wasting your time!
I'm hoping to move after Christmas, but you never know. It could very well take longer (though I certainly hope that it doesn't, for a number of reasons). It would just be ridiculously convenient, and frankly a lot for fun, if I were located in Cambridge. The only downside is that, should I live close to the city centre, I will be tempted to shop more than I already am. Bad combination. Very bad, indeed.
I'll just try to limit my shopping addiction, that's all. I'll see what I can do. With Christmas coming up, and so many lovely people to buy presents for, it's a touch hard.
But anyways. Enough of that.
I haven't talked about school lately, so perhaps I should provide a brief update in that avenue.
Things have been going fairly well since half term ended. I really feel I came to a turning point with my year 10s. I won some of their respect, in allowing them to listen to their iPods while doing individual work. The only problem with that is that they try to put them in during group work, or even when I am talking, and I have to crack the whip and get them to put them away. However, I can't let them push me around, so I should really take no issue with having to constantly reprimand them for improper iPod use. Frankly, I could get into a lot of trouble with the school, should they find out I'm breaking the iPod rule. But it really does get the kids to work quietly during individual learning time, so I don't want to give it up. I had the assistant head principal sit in on a lesson with my 10s before the break, and they were absolute angels. Someone once told me that you can always tell whether a class likes you by how they behave when someone else is in the room. If they know its an important thing for you, and they like you, they will be on their best behaviour. If they don't give two shits about you, they will carry on like normal. If that is true, than I have to take their behaviour to mean they do like and respect me...they've just got a weird way of showing it.
My year 9s continue to be my problem class. The last lesson I had them, they would not settle down. When I tried to do a group discussion, they went absolutely ape shit. I had to shut off the lights, raise my voice, and threaten them with after school detentions in order to get them to work as I wanted them to. It's a constant frustration to me, as I don't think I should have to threaten them to get them to work. That said, again, when someone is observing me in lesson, they act like civilized beings...so they must, on some bizarre level, like me a little.
I was off 'sick' yesterday (mental health day...heh heh), and was told this morning that my 9s were the worst behaved children the supply had ever experienced. She told me that if she had to deal with those kids every day, she'd be handing in her notice and quitting. She asked me, with real concern in her eyes, if they were like that every lesson. I kind of smiled at her knowingly, shook my head in the affirmative, and told her I was a very strong woman. She laughed, and agreed wholeheartedly. I can only hope she goes to the department head, and lets her know exactly what type of children I deal with, because I think sometimes she doesn't believe they're that bad. I think she thinks if SHE had them, she could tame them. I think she's wrong. But then again, what do I know?
My 11s are alright. The top set ones, anyways. We've been doing exam preparation, which is INSANELY boring bookwork...there really is no way to jazz it up...and they've been, for the most part, taking it seriously. Hopefully they do well on the exams; that'd make ME look good, as a teacher. Fingers crossed. My bottom set, however, are likely to all bomb it, with the exception of perhaps two girls and one of the boys. They don't take any of the prep work I do seriously, and only do it half assed. In fact, its not even half an effort they give. For a response that requires a good solid 5 paragraph essay response, they write down 5 basic sentences, and then moan the rest of the period about how 'boring' my lessons are. Ugh. They are in for a rude awakening after the exams, that's for damn sure. I hope their parents care. They should.
My 8s, as per usual, are little dolls. They listen to me, do my lessons, and are generally sweethearts. I maintain my position on wishing to teach only year 8s and 7s in the future. They are the perfect age, and I would take on all the 8s and 7s at a school, just to not have to teach any of the other year groups.
But that's just selfish, isn't it? Everyone needs a challenge now and again. Even....me...unfortunately.
Hmm. Well, I have definitely yammered on enough for one evening. I am deathly tired, for some reason, and plan to hit the sheets shortly. I need a day of solid sleep, I think, to rest up my weary head. I think too much. It's a curse, really.
Cheers.
Friday, November 7, 2008
On Saying Some Stuff
Alright, so I am aware that, as per usual, I haven't updated much lately. To be fair, I've had an awful lot going on lately! It was a wild and crazy half term break....well less wild and crazy, really, and more breathtakingly amazing. I needed the break more than I thought, and seriously enjoyed it immensely. If I'm being 100% honest, it was probably one of the best weeks of my life. Edinburgh was, to put it lightly, the most amazing place I've ever been. Everywhere I looked was something ridiculously beautiful. This sheer history of the place awed me. I also loved the atmosphere of the city. It was so vibrant and fun, bubbly and amazing. I loved every second of it, and I would seriously consider moving there some day. It was amazing. I am officially in love with the city of Edinburgh.
Anyways, more than that happened over the half term as well. I'd love to get into it here, but some things should remain personal. If you really want to know, ask me! The only tidbit you'll get is that I'm happy, and I think I'll be happy for awhile now. :)
Well, perhaps when I get bored this weekend I will write more. Right now my heart is just not in it.
Cheers!
Anyways, more than that happened over the half term as well. I'd love to get into it here, but some things should remain personal. If you really want to know, ask me! The only tidbit you'll get is that I'm happy, and I think I'll be happy for awhile now. :)
Well, perhaps when I get bored this weekend I will write more. Right now my heart is just not in it.
Cheers!
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