On Losing My Cool For The Second Time In As Many Weeks

As the title suggests, I've cried once again. That makes it the second time in two weeks that I've cried at school. This time it was because of my year 9s. Luckily, it wasn't in front of them...but it was still in front of students.


They were being really frustrating. If you are a teacher, you'll know what its like to be in front of a group of teens and feel as if you're in the middle of pure chaos. I tried to be calm, I tried to be mad, I tried everything. Nothing I did was having the right effect, and I'm not sure I have the skills necessary to handle it. I am so horribly bad at classroom management with this group, it makes me extremely ashamed and embarrassed. They do not listen to me. I have no idea what I can do to change it. I've tried it all, and I've lost every battle. Earlier this week the Department Head suggested we schedule a day to plan some lessons together for the class, so that we can work on getting them to work in an extremely managed environment. I was absolutely for the idea, and hope to god she follows through. As much as it would be hitting on my ego (it's an admission that I'm rubbish, to some degree) I am humble enough to admit I need help. I need training. I need someone to scaffold me, so I can in turn scaffold the class.

Eventually, I gave up trying to reign in the misbehaving kids today, and focused on making sure the good ones were receiving instruction. This was really hard to do though, because the behavioural issue kids were going bonkers, doing whatever the hell they wanted behind my back. Obviously I couldn't let everything slide by, so I had to go reem out a few kids, before returning to the kids on task. I tried to get the bad ones back to work, but they gave me their 'stupid' stare, and refused to pick up a pen. Aside from sending the whole lot of them out, I was at a complete loss of what to do.

I tried to instruct the on-task kids as well as I could, but it was extremely hard considering my attention was being constantly compromised. I felt as if I were being tugged between two extremes, and it started to really grate on me. I could literally feel every fibre of energy being drained from my body. I felt myself wilt, like a flower left to dry in the sun. I eventually gave up completely and let the kids go five minutes early. I didn't even care if I got reprimanded for it later. I was just completely drained; I could not handle the tug-of-war any longer. Besides, the off task kids had already packed up, and were only distracting the on task kids more.


They filed out and I quietly went about putting the room back in order. As I was doing so, my year 8 students started to pour into the room. They're lovely children, but last period on a Friday even they can be a bit hyper and rowdy. They were acting as children do, and I was trying VERY hard to not lose my cool with them. It was not their fault that I was in a terrible state.

One of the boys, who is almost always a bit of a handful, but is nonetheless likable, started to be overly goofy.

"Josh, not today....please. I'm begging you," I said quietly to him.


He stopped what he was doing, and looked at me. He tiled his head to the side, and said "Miss, you don't look happy. Are you okay? Are you tired?"


"Yes. I'm exhausted..." I said quietly.


A few of the girls across the aisle had been listening, and they looked at me, their tiny faces swimming with concern."Miss, was it your 9s? Were they rude to you?" one of the girls asked.


"Yes," I said curtly.


"What did they do?" the other asked.


"I don't want to talk about it," I said, turning away from them.


I walked over to my desk, and attempted to do the register. However, I could not let this feeling of frustration go. I felt myself welling up, a tingle came over me, and I knew that tears were on their way. Not wanting to let loose a torrent of rainfall on the children, I covered my face and quickly hurried out of the room. I heard a collective "Awwwww" come from the children as I left.


I stood out in the hallway, and let a few tears slip silently out. My whole body was shaking though, and before long the solitary tears became a steady stream.


At this point, Allisson, the other Canadian teacher, came out of her room to reprimand one of her students, and she saw me crying. She sent her student back into the room and came over to talk to me.


"Do you want me to go into your room and give a verbal licking to your group?" she asked, defensively.


"Oh no," I said between tears, "It's not them. They are lovely. It was the 9s before them..."


She cursed the 9s, and rubbed my back as we discussed our mutual dislike of the year group, and the sets we've been given. She took a hard line, and has resolved that we should band together and do something about our classes, because she has the same issue as I do. Basically, she's got a group of students who genuinely try but are constantly brought down by the other half of the class, who act like total lunatics and assholes.

"I'm going to propose that after half term we split the classes. I will take ALL the bad ones, and give you my good ones. That way, the kids who want to learn aren't done the disservice that they're at now. I'm willing to take that hit," she said.


"I dunno," I said, reluctantly. I hate to pass of my problems to other people. However, I do think she raises a valid point. If she wants to make that proposal, I will stand behind it 100%. I'd even take the bad ones, as long as I had some sort of TA support in the room with me. One adult with these kids, the bad ones at least, is not enough. They are unmanageable.


After talking with her for about 4 minutes, I had dried my eyes, and was ready to return. They kids were all waiting expectantly for me.


"I'm really sorry guys," I said, my voice still shaking. "Its not your fault at all that I cried. I just had a very bad lesson before you, and it just got to me. Terribly sorry you had to see that. Now, let's carry on..."


The kids were very good for me, as they usually are. At the end of the lesson, a few of them asked me if I was alright. I assured them that I was. They looked uncomfortable for a minute, as they contemplated hugging me. I laughed it off, and told them hugs were not required, but I did appreciate the thought.


"Well, the whole class would hug you if it weren't weird to do so," one of the boys said.


I smiled at him, and thanked him for his kind words.


Another boy said he was going to yell at one of the year 9s in his form room, for making me cry. I laughed again, and then sent them on their way. They're delightful children, and I am very glad that I ended the day with them, and not with the 9s. I am sorry they had to see me break down though, as they don't deserve that burden. Sadly, it could not be helped.


As it stands, I feel as if I am literally at the end of my rope with this school. I just don't feel like I'm being as effective at my job as I could be. I feel like a failure. These feelings of total inadequacy are dominating me lately, and I cannot escape them. I had started the year in January on such a high, but now it's been dashed to pieces. I don't know what to do. I have never, in my entire life, been so profoundly unhappy. I know that this unhappiness stems from my job. Its not even the workload that is killing me. That is manageable, and I have it under control. I am not working too hard, and I am not stressing about the workload in any way. It is, one hundred percent, the constant psychological struggle that these kids put me through. Physically I feel like total shit. I oouldn't even imagine what it would feel like to be more unhappy than I am right now...I can't even verbalize to you what I'm feeling right now. It's a horrible feeling in the very centre of my soul. Its a numbness, but it's a painful numbness.

It didn't help that my year 11s were total write offs this morning. My higher's didn't do anything close to what I wanted them to do. They basically took what I had assigned, and then half-assed a response. It was absolutely appalling. Their sheer laziness is enough to make me want to scream. Fed up, I sent them out, and am going to have them re-do it on Monday.

My bottom 11s were appalling, to start, as well. Two of the boys, one of them that lazy fat ass I've described to you before, were in moods right off the bat. They were belligerent with me, and in my face with attitude. Frustrated, I started to dish it right back.

The one kid got up, and stormed out. I looked at the TA, who took the hint and chased after him. Apparently he ripped into her in the hallway, and told her to fuck off. When he returned, I sent him out with the Department Head. No nonsense. Then someone else came to collect Fat Bastard, who was supposed to have gone to the Inclusion Centre to do some Maths catchup work. He wasn't happy to go, and five minutes later returned.

"You're not supposed to be here," I said.

"Yah, well I walked outta there...I don't want to be there," he said.

"That's not your call. You need to be there, not here," I said. I went to my laptop, and sent out a message that he was in my room.

A few minutes later, the Department Head popped back in again and demanded that he move. He refused. She raised her voice with him. He demanded to speak with a man.

She lost it.

Eventually he was hauled out. The stress, however, had obviously done its number on me by this point....

The game was basically over for me after this all went down. And then period 4.....

I want to induce this feeling out of my body, right now, but it's stuck inside me. I am currently wishing I had a bottle of wine that I could pour down my throat. That'd wash away the dreadful feeling of absolute uselessness from me....

...for awhile, anyways.

On This Feeling

You know how music can most definitely put you in a mood? Well lately I've been trying really hard to monitor my music choices, so that I can avoid inducing a 'downer' feeling in myself. Instead, I've been attempting to download rather uplifting music, so that the chances of my iPod shuffling on to something really depressing is significantly lowered.

In theory, this should work out pretty well. However, it would appear that it doesn't really work in practice. I've been really productive at work lately, not bringing much work home with me. I've been getting so much done at school, I've been on a real roll. As such, I've been able to come home and just have some 'me' time. Usually this consists of nothing more than streaming episodes of 'How I Met Your Mother' and downloading and listening to music.

I've been listening to the music off my laptop the last little while, since I seem to have misplaced my USB docking cable for my iPod. I am positive I brought it to England with me, but I can't find it, so I've had to order a new one off the Apple website. Well, it's arrived today, so I quickly plugged it in and re-synced my iPod. Now I've got it sitting in the speaker, and am letting it entertain me with its musical prowess. It's on shuffle. And it keeps bombarding me with depressing music!

Right now it's blasting 'Creep' by Radiohead at me. While I do adore this song, it is also a tad bit emo and depressing. It's all about worshiping someone from afar, and not feeling good enough. Crap. Like I want to listen to that! So I'll reach over and change the song....

...and what does it come up with? 'Given to Fly' by Pearl Jam. Now this....this is a great tune. But, great tune though it may be, it also has a pretty mellow feel to it. One could even say depressing...if you wanted to get really heavy. I'm not going to change the song though, because this song will actually put me in a mellow state of mind. It is kind of about someone not returning love...it's got some angst. Come on. Nothing Eddie Vedder sings is completely free of angst. He's gritty, and thats why I love him. Bad ass.

The point remains though, that my iPod seems to be skipping out entirely on the upbeat pop songs I've loaded it with. I'm sure it is just a coincidence, but one has to wonder a little. Does the world want me to be in a chill/depressio mood? Is that what I'm supposed to be feeling right now? Or is it all just in my head? Does it have more to do with the fact that I want to feel this way, so I'm willing these songs to be played?

Bah, I am not a philosophy major, nor do I care to be. I'm simply lamenting.

'Spaceman' by the Killers is the song it's choosing to play for me next. This song isn't as depressing as the rest; at least not in tune. It's got an upbeat feel to it...but with the Killers you can never be sure. Weirdos. The guy wears guy-liner, for Gods sake (and don't I love him for it? Best wearer of guy-liner ever).

Hmm, now it's playing some Matchbox Twenty. I am still arguing this theory of my iPod avoiding upbeat music. Hmm.

But anyways, this train of thought has run it's course. What to ramble about now?

I could likely gush on and on about how stoked I am about Trevor and Matt visiting me in 17 short days...however I think you'd likely get tired of me going on about that. It'd probably get insanely sappy, so much so that you'd have to blow your nose on a pancake. So I will leave that one alone.

I could also moan some more about work, and how the Lord of the Office has been reigning his disapproval down upon me in not-so-subtle ways. It's highly irritating, to have the office twat on my case, albeit in his own 'trying to be subtle' way. Too bad his subtly is blatantly obvious to me. Hello. I am a woman. I am the Queen of Passive Aggressive Disapproval. I can see it from a mile away! (I feel I should interject, and point out that the iPod has just cranked out 'Breathe' by Moist. Love the tune, but you cannot say that it's upbeat at all) I've been biting my tongue around the guy though, because I hate to stir up trouble, and if I were to say anything back - namely, if I were to defend myself - it would only end in an uncomfortable row in front of everyone else. Suffice it to say, his snotty comments are not going unnoticed, but I'm trying my best to shrug them off.

I've also got the support staff breathing down my neck. Now that it's getting close to crunch time for the year 11s, everyone seems to be in a tizzy. They're chasing kids down like crazy, trying to up their grades before it's too late. Frankly, if the kid hasn't looked after their own business, I don't see why we should be busting our butts for them. I'm just going to keep doing my thing. When the support staff comes to me for help, I'll give them what I'm doing in lessons, but I can't be expected to work twice as hard getting these kids extra work to improve upon, if they don't come seek it from me themselves. It'd be a whole other story if the kids asked me, face to face, what they could do to improve. But the kids these people are chasing after are the ones who don't give a fuck, regardless. They're waste-cases. I'm not even ashamed to admit it.

('Broken Strings' by James Morrison. Great tune. Very depressing.)

The one kid, Jonny, was just recently switched into my bottom set year 11 group. He comes into class and is a total pain in my ass, on a daily basis. He won't do any work. Instead he'll just sit there and mock everyone else in the class (and he's a fat fucker, so you know his bullying stems from his own insecurity and his desire to keep the limelight off himself). No amount of nagging or pressure from me will make this kid do work. If they want to try to kiss his ass and make him get something done, they can go ahead and do it. I don't give two shits. If he's going to come into my class and waste my time, then I'm not going to put in any effort for him. Fuck that shit. I do my best when he's timetabled to me. He chooses to waste that time, and I can't be bothered to care when he's trying to make up for it later. Second chances are for suckers. The real world doesn't work that way. When he starts working, he's not going to have some lady running around tidying up his loose ends. He won't get to do things over again. I can't wait until the world slaps him on the face. Maybe then he'll see.

A lot of these kids are going to get a pretty hard dose of reality, come September.

Shame I won't be around to see it.

On My Amount Of Moaning

As the last student filed out the door, at the end of period 5 today, I breathed a huge sigh of relief, not so much because I had an absolutely rubbish day (I didn't), but because I was, in general, quite pleased to have made it through the day at all. Increasingly, I am finding that I'm lacking the energy to come into school every day with as much enthusiasm as I used to have. I know in my last post I had lamented on the idea of becoming crotchety before my time, and I stick with that worry. In fact, I am increasingly becoming aware of the fact that my energy is being drained from me before I even get to lunch most days. And to think, last year at around this time I was an overly eager student at Lakehead University, completing my Bachelor of Education and entertaining lofty ideas of being the really energetic and 'fun' teacher at some lucky school in the fall. How naive young minds can be; even if that young mind was mine only a short year ago.

Funny how time can change things.

I was talking to Allisson today, the other Canadian teacher on staff. She's only in her late 20s, but has been teaching for a few more years than I (I think she's on her 5th of 6th, so she is much more practiced than I am). We share a special bond, in that we both feel a bit ostracized by the British teachers in the Department, and we often will hunker down together and commiserate. Well, today I went in and was my usual (or at least, my usual of late) dejected self, moaning about the system in which we work. After spewing out a few complaints, I stopped, and looked at her. She was regarding me with a mild smile playing on her lips.

"Awww, hun. I feel so bad for you, that THIS has to be your first year EVER teaching," she said. "It is NOT like this back home. I promise."

I smiled at her, absolutely relieved to at least have my suspicions confirmed (not to mention validating thoughts which I was hoping were not fraudulent).

"Yah...I know," I said, tentatively. "I loved the teaching I did back home. I mean, I came home every night and worked my ASS off, but it was worth it because the kids were engaged in my lessons. I got so much positive feedback. I knew teaching was what I was meant to do....but here...I just don't feel like my effort is appreciated, so I'm getting lazy. I don't want to put in the effort if I don't get it back, you know?"

She nodded at me, "Oh trust me, I know. I've given up on some students. I've given up really caring here, since I know I won't be staying. I don't blame you at all."
"Well. I can't give up, that's not me...but I can care a hell of a lot less, which in turn makes me a bit of a crap teacher in my own opinion. I'm still good though...just not as good as I know I can be."

She nodded at me, tilting her head to the side in that knowing and pitying way.

"I still pity you," she said. "This is not what a first year of teaching should be like."

I shrugged at her, "If I do the hard stuff first, it will make the rest that much easier..."

We talked about it a bit more, brutalizing the British system for all it's flaws and drawbacks. We then resolved to get drunk together this weekend, at a fellow Canadian staff-members 30th Birthday bash in Cambridge. We both agreed that teaching, no matter where you are in the world, is stressful. Working in a hostile environment, one in which you're made to feel sub-par, doesn't make it any better. And booze is a decent solution. So is not doing work on the weekends, which I am going to try very very hard to do from now on.

Which brings me to the real reason I started this post; only ten minutes before entering Allisson's room I had been at a meeting for Newly Qualified Teachers (NQTs). I'm technically not an NQT, since I didn't graduated under the British system, but they stick me into the meetings since it is my first year teaching. Its not so bad, I get to learn a lot of things that are useful to me, but sometimes the meetings get to be a bit much. I wasn't really relishing the idea of wasting an hour and a half after school attending the meeting, as a had a large stack of work that needed to be done. However, after debating it for about 10 minutes I decided to head down.

I walked into the meeting about 15 minutes late, on account of the internal debate I had with myself over attending, paired with the pressing matter of dealing with e-mails from parents. Add to that the stress of having that stack of work weighing on my conscience, I was in no real mood to sit through a boring and pointless meeting. However, as I walked into the room and saw who was joining us, I was able to let out a sigh of relief.

Returning to visit us, for the third or forth time (I can't recall exactly) was this lovely lady who does 'coaching' with us. Life coaching. Basically, her job is to train us to learn to talk and listen to each other better, so that we can be life coaches to each other. It all adds up to our being able to be shoulders for one another, to listen and provide gentle and smart solutions. The woman, I can't remember her name for the life of me, is absolutely lovely, and quite possibly the smartest woman I've ever met. She can look at you, and listen to you talk, and it feels as if she can see to your very soul. I'm of the belief that she should be a shrink, because she has this insane ability to draw things out of people without their even knowing it. Last time we all met, she set in on me in her gentle way, and eventually she made me cry. I'm not sure if I blogged about that occasion. It was quite embarrassing. She was asking everyone if we were happy, and I tried to lie and say that I was. She, however, was having non of it. She could tell something was bothering me, and kept gently prodding me to let the truth out. Eventually, I broke down into tears and sobbed that I couldn't focus properly on teaching because I missed home too much. It was like a scene out of a movie, where the tough asshole finally breaks down into tears, and everyone around has an "awww" moment.

As I walked in, 15 minutes late, she smiled at me.

"Ah, welcome Krista. Glad you could make it after all, do sit down," she said.

I pulled up a chair, and she continued on in her speech. Apparently I hadn't missed much. She was rambling on, in her soft melodic voice, about how teaching was one of the hardest professions in the world. She said that most of the teachers she worked with had one thing in common, one feeling that every teacher, regardless of age, dealt with on a daily basis; inadequacy.

I stiffened when she said the word, and tried to steal glances at the other teachers in the room. They were all nodding their heads, knowingly. I relaxed a little bit, relieved to know that at least I wasn't the only one agreeing with her. I was a bit shocked though, wondering how it was that she always seemed to know exactly what I was grappling with. It kind of hit me, in one word, that that is what I've been having issues with lately, this idea of my complete and total inadequacy as a teacher.

My crying in front of my year 10s, my feelings of insecurity when it comes to my boss and my job in general; I feel inadequate. I feel as if nothing I do matters, or is of any consequence, good or bad.

I tried to turn off my brain to listen to her, but mostly I was in and out of the conversation. I'd hear snippets of what she was saying, and then instantly my brain would hop into overdrive, analysing everything she said.

The gist of it was that teachers are made to feel inadequate by the students, by parents, and by each other. Not too many other professions deal with as much monitoring and pressure as we do. She then said that as a result we take our jobs home with us, in an attempt to be 'better'. Most people don't do that. Work ends when you walk out the building for most people. You can set it and forget it. Teachers should do that, but we don't. We don't feel there is enough time to do all we need to do, so we end up taking things home with us and doing work in our own personal space and time. As a result we neglect the most important thing in our lives; ourselves. And to make sure were weren't total selfish twats, she also added something about family and loved ones.

But it doesn't stop there. We take our work home in more ways than the physical. We take home the mental. A lot of people do that, it's kind of inevitable; You can't just turn off your brain. A bad day at work will always have repercussions at home, that's life. However, she said that teachers could go home every night and have something to complain about. And we do.

And who do we dump on? The people that we love.

Do we ASK them if they want to hear us bitch and moan? No. We just let loose a steady stream of complaints, and then wonder why our relationships start going down the tubes. If someone came and bitched to ME every day without fail, I'd start to get tired of hearing of it....so why wouldn't someone else get tired of ME doing it to THEM? Negative input piled onto negative input is only going to add up to a huge pile of negatives in the end. It's pretty standard stuff, really.

This is what I really took away from the lecture the life coach gave us today. She told us that in order to be healthier people, and therefore better teachers, we need to find someone to vent to, but that it has to be a two way street. She said we have to learn to ask people for their time, and then praise them for being there when we're done. If people feel appreciated just for allowing you to talk, even if that talk is mostly negative, then they are less likely to dwell on the negatives you've been vomiting on them for the past hour (or however long you've been ranting and raving), and instead focus on how positive you feel after being allowed to get the rant out.

I do try not to rant and rave to people in PERSON about my work woes. I kind of knew already that people get tired of listening to you bitch. Besides, it doesn't really do any good. That said, I do come onto this blog and pour out my heart and soul. My justification in doing so, however, lies in the fact that I don't make anyone read this. If you're reading this, you're making a conscious choice to do so. If you get tired of my moaning, you can easily stop and carry on doing something else. This blog constitutes my main form of 'release', when it comes to work-related stresses.

I'm not going to ask you if it's alright for me to vent here. It's really not your place to decide. I mostly do this for myself, because it feels insanely good to get some things off my chest and into print. If you choose to read this, then you do so on your own accord. Reading this blog means you've entered into a contract with me, whereby I shall bitch and moan to my hearts content, and you won't hold it against me.

I do promise, however, to try to keep the moaning to a minimum. Though you have to be aware of the fact that level of moaning increases the further into term we get. Half-terms allows me to re-energize, so the first few weeks back from breaks are always easier.

The only thing that really helps me through it all at this point is knowing that a) I can come here and rant about it, after the fact and b) that the next half-term break is only 18 days away. Having something to look forward to is almost as energizing as coming off the week itself. Getting random text messages during the day helps too.

Little things make dealing with the stresses of my job that much easier. So I suppose I should hold onto those, and keep doing what I'm doing.

I'm not mean and crotchety yet...

On Cursing My Poor Numeracy

This is going to be short and sweet. The other day I was sitting in my room, snug as a bug, and totally content about the fact that my half-term break was fast approaching. However, for some reason I went all mental-retardo and thought that I only had two weeks of teaching left before my glorious week off, and therefore did the math all wrong. Turns out that no, it's actually THREE weeks of teaching that I have to struggle through, before I get to fall into the sweet bliss that is NOT WORKING FOR A WEEK.

Ugh.

Frankly, I think it's sad that I so look forward to the times when I don't have to do my job. Have I really come to this stage in my life already? I thought I'd have a few years at least, before I went all crotchety and mean.

'Mean Old Miss Carson' they'll call me. Maybe they're calling me that already. Dear god, I hope not. I really don't want to be that girl yet.

I think, if anything, they call me "Crybaby Carson" or something...because the rumours have to be flying about how easily I cry.

I think I took the wrong approach with these kids. I tried to get them to like me, and they do, but they don't really see me as threatening. When I put on my angry face, it's cute more than anything. Ugh. I'm not entirely sure how to crack out the bitch, but I can try.

Or I can at least say I will try, and then imagine what it would be like if I did....

That's likely how it will go down.

On Being Crazy To Want This, Even For Awhile

I've got a free period right now, and since I am feeling a bit too down on life to actually care about planning anything too far in advance, I've decided I'd make use of the time to write an entry here, and maybe clear some things up.

Yesterdays post was short and sweet, and I do believe it really summed up how I felt at the end of the day; Like total shit.

The day itself had started out rough. Rachel, whom I usually get a ride with, texted me at 6:15 in the morning (I usually don't get woken up until 6:40, by my alarm) to say she wasn't going into work, as she had a migraine. I instantly panicked, not entirely sure how I was going to get into school. The bus to the village is notoriously bad, and I'd likely miss it and end up an hour or so late. That wouldn't do. I texted Simon, one of the PE teachers that lives in the town. He texted back, saying he could give me a ride, but that he'd be leaving at 6:45. That gave me twenty minutes. With no other option, I accepted a lift from him, and proceeded to have the fastest shower I've had in my life, followed by the most rushed assembly of an outfit that I've seen in awhile. I threw my wet hair into a bun, grabbed my bag, and set out just in time to see him round the corner in his car.

I don't know if you feel this way, but waking up and having to instantly rush everything really frazzles me out. I like to be able to take my time in the morning, and rather lazily go through the paces. Having to get myself ready in twenty minutes, start to finish, was not a nice way to start the day. I came into the building already feeling flustered and out of breathe.

As the day progressed, I increasingly felt the pressure building on me. I don't know if the kids could tell I was tired, or what, but they were not acting as they usually do. Both sets of 11s tested my patience on a number of occasions. They didn't seem to be bothered to do the work that I set, despite the fact that it really wasn't hard, and it wasn't totally boring either (well, my top set had to do some content questions, which is a touch boring, but it certainly is not hard). I was a bit annoyed with my top set 11, and when my bottom set came in and they carried on ignoring me it was just adding fuel to the fire. Two of the girls flat out refused to work, and I calmly told them to leave.

They refused. Both girls were standing, and literally planted their feet as far apart as possible, to signify their refusal to move. Frustration bubbled, and I asked them again, as politely as I could, to leave.

They laughed in my face, and said no.

"I am not going to ask you again, get OUT of my room. I'm not having you here if you're refusing to do the work. There are people in here who are actually working, and you're just ruining their day and mine. So get out, and get out NOW!" I said, losing my temper a bit and raising my voice.

"God, you always moan at us. You never moan at anyone else. She's talking, he's talking, but it's always us. This isn't FAIR!" the one girl shouted at me.

"Yep. It's always you. So get out," I said, not really caring to argue with her.

"I'm going to my house office," she said, dragging the other girl with her. "I hate this lesson, I hate this school!" she said on her way out.

"Bye," was all I said to her, in my most chipper, yet frustrated, voice.

After their removal, I sent an e-mail to the girls house office to say she should be on her way. I instantly got one back, saying I'd sent them to the wrong house office, and that Orwell House should deal with them. Sighing, I admitted my ignorance and instantly felt like a complete twat.

I had my 10s next, and was really hoping for an improvement. However, the kids weren't with me on this. In fact, they were probably the worst I'd ever seen them. I can't really even begin to describe what it was that set me off, because it was just a combination of things that accumulated into one huge blowout on my part. I had set some work, which they all blatantly set aside and ignored. I walked around, prompting groups of them to get on task, but they merely pushed the paper further away, ignored me, and continued on in their private conversations. I felt myself bristling, but fought really hard to keep it down.

I tried to get their attention a couple of times, so I could really stress the importance of doing the work. A few looked at me, but most remained engrossed in their own little worlds.

"YEAR 10!" I said, as loud as I could.

They stopped, and looked at me.

"Look. You guys cannot be chatting right now. I've given you something to do, and you really do need to get one with it. It's all important stuff, that leads up to your coursework essay," I said.

Instantly, they started to bombard me with questions about the coursework, saying they didn't understand it, and a number of other complaints. Words were flying at me from every direction, and I couldn't even hear myself think. It felt as if I was in a torrential rainfall of words. At any minute I was waiting for the lightening to crash down and strike me dead.

"YEAR 10!" I yelled again, "I cannot hear what you're asking me, because you're all talking at once. Let's use some common courtesy and ask our questions one at a time. Chances are you are all thinking the same thing..." I said.

They settled down for about a second (literally) and a few hands went up. Someone asked me a legitimate question, and I answered it. As I was talking, the chatter rose up again amongst the class. I tried to ignore it. Another hand went up, asked another legit question. I answered it. The level of chatter rose steadily as I was speaking. Another hand went up, and the student asked me the first question, which I had already answered.

I was annoyed.

"Guys...." I said. Nothing.

"Year 10...." I said. Nothing but noise.

"YEAR 10!!!!!!" I shouted.

They stopped talking.

"This is ridiculous! I'm trying to answer peoples questions - questions that I've actually already answered about FIVE times since I gave out the assignment, and it's really starting to annoy me! But to have someone ask the same question TWICE in a day, within a matter of minutes...I mean that really says something, doesn't it? You are not listening to each other, and you're certainly not listening to me!"

Snickers broke out here and there, and the chatter instantly resumed.

I threw my hands up in frustration, tossing the papers in my hand high into the air. I stood motionless as the paper fluttered to the floor. My pen fell on the desk in front of me, and bounced onto the floor as well. I still didn't move. I stood there, staring into space.

A few more heads turned.

"I don't know why I bother staying here," I said quietly. No one really heard, and I didn't care.

"I AM FUCKING SICK OF THIS SHIT!" I said loudly.

That got silence. Every head turned to me.

"Do you have ANY idea how hard I work for you guys?! I mean, really? The last piece of coursework I SPOON FED to you. I practically GAVE you the answers. A few of you did really really well, but how some of you still managed to hand in a rubbish paper is beyond me. How much more do you expect me to do?! I'm trying to help you through this work now, by giving you questions to answer on the stories, which is BASICALLY doing HALF the work you need for the essay...I'm once again GIVING you the answers, if you just do a little bit of legwork, and you just PUSH IT AWAY. You ignore me, you talk over me, and you show me ZERO respect. Why the hell should I do this?! I'm sick and tired of trying so damn HARD for you guys, when clearly you don't give a shit. If you don't care, then I'm seriously done caring. I am done with this. I'm done," I said. As the last sentence slid out of my mouth, I couldn't hold back the frustration I'd been holding in any longer. I broke into tears.

Turning quickly, I walked out the door and into the hallway. I left the door open, and stood there looking out the window, sobbing. I let myself cry for about a minute, and then I tried to calm myself down.

There wasn't any noise in my room. No one made a move.

After a few minutes, I felt sufficiently calm, and I walked back into the room. All eyes followed me.

"Okay. I'm sorry I swore, that was very unprofessional. But you have to understand how hard this is for me...I want you all to do well, because if you do well it means I'm doing well. I also care about you guys, I want you to do the best you can do...and it really hurts my feelings, on a personal level, when you basically disregard my efforts. It gets really hard to try for something when you are met with zero effort back. A person can only take so much. So here's the deal. I will keep trying to help you, but only if you give me something back. If you come to me for help on this coursework, and you don't have the accompanying questions done, I'm going to turn you away. If you don't out effort in, then neither am I. It's a two way street, and I'm done being the only one on it."

I stared at them for about a minute after this, not saying anything. No one said anything back.

"Right, so get to work on the questions."

They did get down to work, and the atmosphere lost the tension in a few minutes, but I still felt absolutely burnt out.

As the left the class, a few said they were sorry, but most just filed out as usual. In the hallway I heard some girls laughing and bragging about how they'd made me cry. This hurt me more than anything that had happened so far.

How is it funny to laugh at someone's pain and desperation? It's sick, really. I've never laughed at someone for being genuinely upset, ESPECIALLY if I was the one that caused it.

My 9s weren't the best either, and they followed the 10s. I nearly broke into tears TWICE while teaching my 9s, over the same blatant lack of respect. It was really hard. I held it back though.

When they left, I did literally sit at my desk, in the dark, and just....shut off. I shut off all evening. I got a ride home with a different co-worker, who took me out for a beer after he heard about my day. The beers helped relax me for awhile, but once they wore off I was still left with the nagging feeling of not feeling respected. I still feel as if my students have no respect for me. That is a hard feeling to deal with. I get walked all over in all my classes, aside from my 8s. I think with them, they're still too young to even understand what it takes to make someone feel like trash. They're still innocent.

Why do we have to grow up, and lose that? Why do we become these hurtful, selfish, vain people? And how does a person like me survive? I don't want to become a hardened bitch. I don't want that to happen. I want to be the sweet one. That's just me...but I'm really afraid that these kids are going to make me become someone else. Someone hardened and dead...

I really do not want that.....but if things keep going like this, if days like this keep happening, I won't last long.

I really was crazy to come here, even for awhile. I want out, now.

Let me come home....

On Having A Rough Day

I'm literally sitting here, my year 9s have just left the room, fighting back tears of absolute frustration. I've turned out the lights, shut the curtains, and spent the last 5 minutes literally staring into space. I turned my brain off. I have absolutely no desire to think more than is necessary to live. I'm makingmyself go numb, because I'm tired of feeling anything at all. I'm tired of feeling like shit. I'm sick of being tread upon. I feel as if someone has taken a baseball bat, and physically beaten the shit out of me. And I haven't fought back. I've laid there and taken it, not making a sound. And I'm fucking tired of it.

I am so TIRED of feeling this way. I thought these days were behind me. I can stand it if I have one lesson a day that makes me feel this way...but 5? I'm not sure what I've done to deserve being treated like this...

I am so kind to my students. I give them the benefit of the doubt, time and time again. I care about them, and I want them to do well, so I go out of my way to help them, regardless of the cost to my personal life. And how do I get rewarded for my time and concern? Fuck that, I don't. I get chewed up and spit out. And when I do snap, when I do lash back and cry and scream and throw things...I'M the bad guy. I never get an "I'm sorry, miss". I get furtive glances, and snickers in the hall.

Oh, I must have forgotten that making someone cry is a point of pride.

Pushing a person to the point where they can't breathe, they're so upset, is a perfectly normal thing to do. In fact, it's quite funny.

These kids are sick and twisted, if they can treat me like this, reduce me to tears, and then laugh about it later. Something is severely wrong with that. Severely.

On Being Bored And Doing Lame Surveys

So I wasn't sure what to post today (although, considering how historically important today is, I really should have more to say), so I've decided to do one of those lame surveys that we all get in our e-mails. I just got one from my friend Ashleigh, so I figured why not.

Can you take the rest of this without deleting any questions or lying? Easily, I'm not big on lying. I try to avoid it at all costs, because usually you get found out anyways.

Qhat is going on between you and the last person you kissed? A love affair that would put most to shame.

What was your worst mistake in your life? If I said taking the biggest risk of my life, and moving to England to pursue my career, how many people would kill me? Naw, this is not the biggest mistake of my life. Only a few people will ever know what that mistake is, but it's a doozy.

Would you get back with your last ex-boyfriend if he asked you? Never in a million years.

Do you still talk to the person you last kissed? Every day, but it's still not enough.

Does anyone hate you? Does the sun rise every morning? Of course people hate me, I can likely list a large number of people. You're kidding yourself if you think people don't hate you, in some capacity, even if that hate stems mostly from jealousy.

Ever been to a guy's house when no one was home? The wording of this question is grammatically confusing (I would say that), because I'm not exactly sure what the meaning is. Does it mean have I ever been to his house with JUST him (aka no parents?) or does it mean when absolutely no one is there? If it is the former then yes, and if the latter then no.

If the last person you kissed said he was in love with you, what would you say? I love you too, nugget.

Name three thoughts you have at this exact moment? 1. How do I answer this question, 2. I wonder how long it's going to take for those beans to kick in, and 3. Do I have my lessons for tomorrow planned?!

You are walking down the street with your boyfriend, where are you going? Frankly, I'd be happy just to be walking down the street with him right now. I don't even care where we're going. But I guess maybe we'd be going to the Golden Lion for a pint, if I were to pick an ideal situation.

What is something you really want right now, be honest? To quote the Foo Fighters, "All I want....is to be home."

List three feelings you're experiencing at the moment: 1. Homesickness, 2. Hunger for real food, and 3. Excitement.

Anything hurt on your body? Actually, now that you mention it, my foot is starting to hurt a little. My back also aches a bit, but that's because I'm sitting on my bed with my laptop on my legs, and it's not really great posture...

Who was the last person to disappoint you? If I said myself, does that count?

Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? Again, it would likely be myself...via this blog. But I suppose if I had to stop being self-centered and pick someone I would have to say... good lord, is it pathetic that I can't recall the last 'deep' conversation I had? I won't count drunkenly deep ones....it was probably with Rachelle or Andrea or Christine...

What are you listening to right now? Nothing at the moment, but the last thing I listened to was T.I.'s new album.

Have you ever punched a hole in the wall? No, but my sister has...with her head. (LOVE YOU)

Where were you at 2AM this morning? In my bed, snuggling with my new pillows.

Where did you get the shirt you are wearing? Where I get almost all my teaching clothes; H&M

When was the last time you were told you were amazing? Last night, I believe...thought it was more implied that I was amazing, instead of being flat-out told. But it was still nice.

Could you go a day without eating? Are you kidding me? No. Though I may have to, if I don't get paid tomorrow, lol.

What was the reason you got grounded for last? Fucked if I know...calling my sister a 'slut' at the dinner table one Christmas? That's honestly the last I can remember being told to 'go to my room'.

Do you wish you never dated someone you dated? First of all, I like to think that I have no regrets, so I can't really wish anyone away...they all served a purpose in making me the person I am today. That said, there are only two people I've dated that I'm glad I dated; the Adams, Glass and Pegler. Adam Glass because I learnt a lot about dating from that guy, and grew immensely as a person, and Adam Pegler, because he was just an all-round wicked guy (still is!). The rest are forgettable, but not regretable.

Have you ever kissed anyone whose name started with a "C"? Yah, one of the forgettables.

How long does it take you to shower? Usually 10 to 15 minutes, unless I shave my legs.

Can you do splits? Nope.

How has the week been? What a stupid question; ask me on Friday.

Does the last person you shared a bed with mean anything to you? Yes, he means a lot to me.

Are you slowly drifting away from someone? I'd really like to HOPE that I'm not, but I sometimes worry that my being in England is having this effect on my personal life, and there's not a lot I can do to fix it until I come back to Canada.

Who can you tell anything to? I'm lucky, in that I have a lot of people I feel I could tell anything to; Andie, Rachelle, Holly, Christine...and to some degree my Mom and sister (but some things you just don't want to tell to your family).

Did anyone see you kiss the last person you kissed? Again, this question is poorly phrased. I could interpret it to mean 'Did anyone EVER see you kiss the last person you kissed?', in which case the answer is yes; we aren't afraid of a little PDA action (no apologies, can't stop passion, baby). However, it could also mean 'Did anyone see you kiss the last person you kissed on the last occassion that you kissed?', in which case my answer would be no.

When a friend walks out of your life, do you go after them or let them go? That all depends on the circumstances. If you've been fighting really hard, and you know its not working, there is really no sense in prolonging your suffereing. However, if it's just a random thing, or over something you know you can smooth out, then yah, I'd chase. I'm a chaser.

Tell me about the shirt you are wearing? Kinky one, aren't we? Naw, it's a very bright colour fuchia, spagetti strap top from H&M. It's really pretty, I've worn it to the bar, but it's also professional if you pair it with a nice cardigan and sexy pants/boots.

Are you currently frustrated with a boy? Depends what kind of frustration we're talking about here. *wink*. Anger frustration is a definite no, though.

How have you felt today? Excited and happy.

Is there any emotion you are trying to avoid right now? Sadness, loneliness, homesickness

Is it cute when a boy calls you babe? As long as it is 'the' boy. Random boys = no.

How about baby? See above.

Who do you call when you are having a bad day? Andie, Rachelle, Christine, Mom,

Are you missing anyone at the moment? Yes, I miss a shitload of people back home in Tillsonburg (namely the family and the Summer of '08 Crew), with a few Guelphy people thrown in there for good effect. I won't list specific names, because it'd take far too long, but you all know who you are. I also miss Gabriel, my fluffy bum baby.

What are you looking forward to most? At the moment, I am looking forward to Trevor and Matty coming to visit me (possibly) in three weeks time. That has be more excited than anything, and will be the highlight of my life thus far. After that, it will be coming home for two weeks in April...and after that it will be coming home for good at the end of July. If I had to sum it all up though, what I am looking forward to most is being with the people I love.

When was the last time you hugged someone? The last person I hugged was my Dad, when he dropped me off at the airport. God. How sad is that? That was three weeks ago.... GOD I NEED A HUG!!!

Honestly, who was the last person you told you loved? Trevor.

Did you have an exciting last weekend? I had fun, but I wouldn't go as far as saying it was exciting.

Will this weekend be a good one? I doubt it.

What do you think of love? I think it is the greatest thing when you have it, and the worst thing when you don't.

Where are the people you love right now? Every single one of them is in Ontario.

What color socks are you wearing? A questionable shade of white.

Did you have school today? I taught in one, does that count as 'having' it?

What is the last thing you ate? Don't judge...beans and french fries. I need to go shopping...

Who was the last person you hugged? Didn't I already answer this? My Daddy.

Is today Thursday? Are you fucktarded? No, it is Tuesday, dick.

Look down, what do you see? My crotch. Hello, dear. Fancy meeting you here!

Well, I do hope you got a brief kick out of that. It certainly did help me to kill time.

Now, onwards to this Era of Responsibility....

On One Niners and My Baby Bro

Well, today is an epic day indeed. Today is a day nineteen years in the making, a day that should be marked in high style; It is my baby brother's nineteenth birthday. In Canada, the nineteenth birthday is a rite of passage, because it signals the first day that a person can purchase alcoholic beverages legally. It's probably the last monumental birthday a person can experience, before they start going downhill (for example, the 30th is the next big one, 40th, 50th, and so on and so forth, until you simply stop caring. Or start dying. Either or. Then it just becomes a race against time, a battle to avoid 'big' birthdays as much as possible. Some people argue that turning 21 is a decent birthday as well, as it means you can now venture into the United States and drink. However, I've yet to go into the United States to order a beer, and I'm 24 years old. Shame, really, but I don't really have any desire to go into the US and get pissed up. I'd likely start a fight with some two-toothed trailer trash bitch. But that's a whole other matter.

I wanted to write this post to wish my brother a HAPPY BIRTHDAY, and maybe reminisce a little bit about our lives together so far.

I can honestly remember the day my parents told me I was going to have a baby brother/sister. I wasn't too bothered by it, since my entire life I can remember having Sheena tagging along after me. Or rather, I should say 'towering over me', since it seems that Sheena was bigger than me from birth. I have absolutely no memories of my year and a half without Sheena (which makes sense, really since toddlers don't have the best of memories). My earliest memories actually stem from kindergarten, which was the grade I was in when Ethan was born.

My Mom used to volunteer a lot in my class when I was 5, and got on really well with all my teachers throughout my education. I think her volunteering really got her into the current career she's in; being an educational assistant (EA). I often think that she should have went through to be a teacher, as I think she'd make a really excellent one. As it stands, she often does the work of a teacher anyways, it's just a matter of a few degrees. Unfortunately, the demands of raising three children likely got in the way of pursuing a really strenuous university degree and then teachers college, so she opted for the easier and more doable route of becoming an EA. I don't know any of this for sure, but it's what I've speculated on for as long as I can remember. Being a Mom means making sacrifices, and I know my Mom has made a lot. But anyways, this story isn't about my Mom, it's about my brother.

As I was saying, my Mom volunteered a lot at my primary schools when I was growing up. She was often in our classrooms helping the teacher control the class, or joining our field trips to keep a watchful eye on us. I was never really embarrassed that my Mom was around in Kindergarten, because I think I used her as a bit of a security blanket. I was a pretty shy little wasp of a girl, so having her around emboldened me to be goofier than I would have been if she wasn't there. Anyways, I don't really remember definite details of that time, but I do remember her belly getting bigger, and how we used to touch it to feel the kicks. Once Ethan was born, she brought him into school for my class to see, because I think we'd all been kind of following along with her pregnancy, or at least as much as 4 and 5 year old kids can. I remember other kids reaching out to have Ethan clutch their fingers, and feeling a bit proud that he was 'mine'.

I also remember taking Ethan to the park that was across the street from our house. We used to sit him in the swing, and my Mom would let us tentatively push him.

I took an insane amount of pride in having a baby brother, and I'm not entirely sure why. As he was growing up, I used to brag about how I had the cutest little brother, while everyone else's was ugly.

He didn't really tag along with me as much as Sheena did, maybe because we were girls and he was a boy. The age gap could also have contributed. I think there was a period when he was growing up, when I was in high school and the start of University, where I can honestly admit that I didn't know my brother very well. I'm obviously ashamed to admit that, but it's the bold truth. A lot of that was due to the fact that during our teenage years we often become a bit self-centred. And stupid. Insanely stupid. For me, that meant focusing mostly on my boyfriend at the time, Adam. We dated from when I was 16 to when I was 21, which meant it was the period in which Ethan went from being 10 to 15. At the time, I had deluded myself, as most young girls do, that he was 'the one' and that we were going to end up married some day. What a joke. Anyways, I spent a lot of time with Adam during that time, and not a lot of time at home. I was also pulling off honours at school, and working an insane amount of hours, first at Burger King (what a horrible job, I might add) and then at Norther Getaway/Reflections (which started a rather long career in retail, which I will always have fond memories of).

My high school memories of my brother consist of him being a tiny young lad, with terrible teeth and a bit of a 'Buddah Belly', as Sheena and I affectionately called it. For such a short kid, who looked so skinny in clothes, he sure did have a belly. When he put a bathing suit on it was apparent that his baby fat had managed to accumulate in his middle, making him look a little pudgy. I knew, even at the time, that he'd likely inherit the Barnes/Carson gene of tallness (which unfortunately passed me over) and lose the baby fat, but it didn't stop me from giving him a good ribbing about it.

He was also really eager to please Adam, and myself sometimes. Whenever Adam was over, we could always count on Ethan to get us pops from the basement, if we asked him politely. I couldn't really get him to get the pops myself, but Adam always had a way of doing it. I suspect that Ethan looked up to Adam at the time, and maybe wanted him as a 'big brother' figure. I do know that as a lad, Ethan did admire Adam a lot, and I used to be really proud of their relationship. Sheena and Ethan were really the only people in my family who liked Adam, likely because they didn't have the wisdom that comes with age, and weren't able to see him for the douche that he was. When Adam and I broke up, I was horrified at the way Adam scorned Ethan. If he had been a bigger man, he would have realized how much my brother admired him, and been able to put our issues aside. However, as I know now, Adam is a very petty man and that didn't happen. Ethan was really hurt by the experience, I know that. I recall coming home from University one weekend, and he said something about how Adam never replied to his MSN messages anymore. As he got older, and started to attend more 'shows', he also told me about running into Adam at one, and that he'd said 'Hi' only to have Adam turn and walk away. What a twat. I'm just glad to know my brother is a bigger man than all that.

But anyways...

Back when I was in High School, my brother also had really geeky friends, especially this one kid named Charles. That kid was a wonder, let me tell you...the entire family called him Milhouse, because he literally looked like him. What made it worse was that he ACTED like him too...talk about adding fuel to the fire. He did have some 'cool' friends, like Devon and David. I used to always say to Sheena that Devon would grow up to break hearts, because he really was a cute kid. I wonder what he looks like now.....

Anyways! I remember giving Ethan and Devon a ride somewhere once, listening to them talk about how they were going to be best friends forever (I don't think they talk much now, ironically). I must have been in University at the time, because they were talking about how when they went away to college, they were going to be dorm-mates. It was really cute, and I recognized it as naive even at the time; having been through a few failed friendships by that point in time, I knew that things would likely change as they got older, and they'd drift apart. But I didn't tell them that then, I let them live in their fantasy.

Being so much older than my brother has a lot of disadvantages. Going way to University was the biggest one, because I really missed out on a lot of his growing up. I came home on weekends, but since I had a boyfriend, and once he was gone a job, I didn't come home as much as I could have. I was around most summers, but then I was often occupied with working full time. I think it was in second year that I came home one Thanksgiving, after not being home since I left at the start of the school year, to suddenly find my brother was no longer shorter than me. It was shocking, to say the least. In a matter of months, he'd literally shot up past 6 feet. Man, the growing pains that accompanied that growth spurt must have been brutal...

...it really hit me when we were brushing our teeth in the bathroom upstairs. We have a really long (but not wide) main bathroom, which has two sinks and a long mirror engulfing the wall over it. I was standing at one sink, and he the other. I looked up, watching our reflections, and was struck by how tiny he made me seem next to him.
I spit out my toothpaste in a rush, white froth dangling off my lip.
"Hey. When the hell did you get so tall?!" I asked him.
"I dunno, but I'm glad I did. I was really worried I'd be short like you..."

Always the cheeky one, that boy.

As we both continued to get older, I continued to learn more about my baby brother. My trips back home started to get longer as my academic career continued. Being single the last few summers meant I spent more time at home, with my family. I started to realize my brother was a pretty cool guy. He liked really indie music, but it was stuff that I could dig (for the most part). He started to introduce me to bands, and I the same to him. I'd hear a cool band back at Uni, and send him a song. He'd send me some. It was pretty rad.

We also have always shared a bit of a bond, in terms of our temperaments. I think my brother and I are a lot alike in that regard. We're both pretty laid back, though I would definitely say he's a tad more laid back than myself. We don't take things too seriously (or at least that's the perception we like to give), and yet we over analyze everything. We're thinkers. He's just more of a quiet thinker, while I'm a bit of a loud thinker. We often band together against our parents, and against Sheena, when she has one of her moods. A knowing look at each other can often be all the reassurance we need. I like to think we share a bit of a bond; I love my brother. He's my favourite brother (even if he is my only one).

I have a lot of respect for him, and am really proud of the man that he has become. He's a gentleman and a scholar (though likely more of a gentleman, though he does try to be the best scholar he can be...even if he is a bit confused about what exactly that will mean for his future). Over the Christmas break I think I got to know my brother more than I ever have before. We actually hung out a lot more, and it was really nice. I definitely think that I will have a lot more great times with my brother, and I hope to really include him in my social circle. I can see him and I being really great friends, not just brother and sister.

But anyways, I should probably stop rambling on and on. If he reads this, he's likely going to be very embarrassed. Oh well, them's the breaks. I'm a rambler, and he should know that by now. A degree in English, not to mention the fact that I teach it, commands nothing less.

I'm off to go home now.

Happy Birthday, little brother.

On Time Killing On A Friday Night

Before you even say anything, yes, I am aware that it's 11ish on a Friday evening, and I'm sitting on my bed with my laptop comfortably situated on my lap (how fitting), typing this. I am also aware that in doing so, I am the lamest person this side of the Atlantic. You're not telling me anything I don't already know. In my defence, I really can't be bothered to go out on a Friday night; not here, at least. I do have friends, mostly people that I work with, and I DO go out with them (tomorrow night is a testament to that, as I am going out on the town in St. Ives to celebrate the 29th birthday of a co-worker), but it's not the same....

It's not the same because I miss my mates back home, to an insanely large degree. At least back home I know my dynamic in the group; I know my place. Don't ask me to tell you what that place is, just know that I have one, and it's solid. My position as the instigator of the Friday Night Drink-Off is assured, at the very least. Tonight is a doubly depressing, because a large portion of the Summer 08 Gang is getting together to celebrate the birthday of a really special lady, my girl Meaghan. Even the especially cool CQ is making an appearance, and in the winter no less, which is just unheard of. In the summer we spent many a weekend out on my back porch, sipping alcoholic beverages, listening to my iPod crack out random tunes, while shooting the shit. I have fond memories of trying to snake one of the loungers, so that I could stretch out and enjoy my bevy in style. I will always love thinking back to Christine and Paul macking on each other to a borderline disgusting (though mostly adorable) way, almost blowing ourselves up with the propane tank on the barbie, reeking of Glade mosquito lamp smoke, having burping contests with the boys, being 'breast-buddies' with Kayla and Megs, and rolling my eyes as another passive-aggressive battle broke out between Holly and Matty....

Yes, those were the days indeed.

And it is these amazing people that are meeting once again, on this cold and windy Canadian winter evening, to have bevy's at the Mug...

...without me.

If I close my eyes, and try to imagine, I can bring myself back to only a few weeks ago...

The Boxing Day just passed is the most recent memory that I am holding on to. It's made easier by the availability of video clips, thanks to my handy digital camera (bless you, Sony). The warm glow of the back room in my parents house, sinking into the cushy chairs while sipping drinks for the 'drinking cups' my mom bought for us in the summer (since we - I - broke too many of her glass cups while drunk), breaking into group sing-a-longs, more burping contests, my iPod yet again pumping out some tunes, a rare mixture of rock, country and hip hop.

If I close my eyes hard enough, I keep thinking that maybe I can go back to those times. Go back to Boxing Day, or better yet, go back to the summer. Or maybe, just maybe, if I wish really hard, instead of going backwards, I can go forward. That would actually be ideal....

...but I know I am being stupid. I know that time will not go any faster or slower, just because I want it to. The world doesn't work that way. It never works the way we want it to, does it?

I can wish all I want to be home, but the fact is, I won't be there for another 77 days. It's so far away, and yet its not. The worst part is that the trip won't even be a permanent stay; it's just for another two week teaser. I'll take what I can get though. I miss it all so much...if it wasn't such an expensive flight, and if the flight wasn't a total drag, I'd go home every weekend. I really would. But again, I am being stupid. Again, I am wishing for something that cannot possibly come true.

I guess it just really bothers me to know that the people I love - my people - are continuing their lives like nothing's changed. They do the things they would do regardless of my being there, and they will continue to do so. They might think about me this time, and maybe for the next few times to follow, but eventually they'll forget about me. It will once again become the norm that I am NOT there, as much was it was the norm when I WAS there. I'm not being melodramatic either, that's really how it happens, and it's probably one of my biggest fears. I fear, more than anything, that moving to England for a year will forever ruin my friendships and relationships. It's pretty hard to stay in touch with people, considering the time difference. I get home from work when it's noon in Canada, and go to bed when most Canadians are in turn coming home from work. Unless I stay up to a ridiculously late time I don't get to talk to anyone. I have to make a pretty conscious effort to stay in touch with people. But ultimately, people will move on with their lives. I mean, they get to continue with their routines, see the same people, go to the same bars, and feel comfortable and happy with their lives. Me, I get to sit in my room in England feeling sorry for myself, wallowing in the past, and wishing I were in the future.

I know a lot of people complain about routine, arguing that they never do anything 'fun'. For the record, I've officially taken that leap, and I can honestly say that doing things like this, crazy brave things like moving to Europe, are overrated. Unless you're going with people it's really not that much fun. Making this move alone, though very noble and smart on a business level is not the best personal choice to make.

I really do hope that doing this won't be the biggest mistake of my (personal) life. I worry about it every day. I don't want to be forgotten. I don't want people to stop valuing me, because I'm not there to talk to. I hate missing out on memories; we all make new memories constantly, and the really shit thing is while they are all making memories together, I make them alone. I can't share these memories the way they can share those. Telling a story that the group remembers is much more interesting than listening to me talk about myself...

Most of all, I hate that it's putting my life on hold, while everyone else is still moving forward. I stay at the same place, and they keep forging ahead. What if I come home, and they're in a totally different place? It worries me.

Anyways. I know I am being all emotional and weepy...I guess sitting alone in your room on Friday night with your laptop isn't the most productive environment for positive thoughts to grow. It almost reads as if I am utterly miserable. Rest assured (Mom especially) that I am not miserable. I have no regrets. Rather, I only have doubts. Doubts and worries, but no regrets.

I know why I did this, and it was for all the right reasons, professionally. I also know that the payoff should be worth it. I should be a lot more employable. Though with the present economy, and the fact that teaching is in dire straights in Ontario right now, I'm not sure how that's going to play out.

I just hope to god that professional gain isn't being won at the expense of my personal life. I know how tough I am, and how committed I am, but its really hard to judge other people without taking a gigantic leap of faith.

Yet again I've proven I'm not afraid to leap...

...hopefully everyone else is leaping too.

On Being Ridiculously Positive

Dear god, I do believe I'm finally falling back into my old mindset, and thinking ridiculously positive about everything, instead of wallowing in the pity pool that was my life prior to the Christmas break. I'm not sure if it's just that 4 months of being in this country had started to weigh me down, or if the trip home has energized me (that can certainly be argued easily enough), but I feel as if I've started anew this term. Things couldn't be going any better. I really don't want to jinx things by being TOO positive, but honestly I'm feeling as if I am in a good place right now.

I still have my qualms with the British education system, but I am finally finding my feet with it. I'm not struggling nearly as much to understand what I am supposed to do, and subsequently get the students to do. While they do expect me to do a ridiculous amount of reporting and interviewing with students, I am now much more comfortable doing it, which makes it a lot easier on myself. I know the students a lot better, which certainly helps. Maybe it's a natural course of action, to increasingly find that teaching is easier and easier. I find that I can get a lot more accomplished, in terms of planning, in a lot less time. I'm now planning a week in advance, and in a few cases even up to the end of term! The last few terms it had been almost nightly planning for the lesson to come. Working like that can get a bit grating, not to mention time (and life) consuming. That said, the last two terms were also much longer; I think from here on in they are 5 -6 weeks long, whereas the first one was a whopping 8 weeks long, and the second one was 7. I shouldn't complain though, considering they don't do this 'half term' business in Canada; it's a straight-through to January business there. However, you only teach 3 classes a term in Canada, whereas I've got 6 the whole year through.

Well, until the summer term, when I lose my year 11s (and hence TWO teaching groups. I can't wait for that to happen). I'm not sure why I lose them...I haven't really been paying much attention right now, but I think it has something to do with exams and the like.

I'm also receiving a lot more positive feedback this term. I'd say there is a 100% increase, actually. In my last few blogs before the break, I recall ranting about how I wasn't being recognized for the hard work I was putting in, and I felt as if I was being dumped on a lot. Well, I'm not sure if that was in my head or not, but all negative criticism has been replaced with glowingly positive stuff. It's mind boggling to me, to accept the accolades that have been raining down on me lately.

Why, just today I was praised for my lovely Power Points, and asked to share them. Gladly!

A co-worker whom I had given two previous units to expressed her extreme satisfaction with them so far, praising me for how 'interesting' and 'inventive' I made my lessons. Why thank you, my dear, I do try.

I was also asked if I could accept a new year 8 student, and was told that I was the first choice since I was so 'confident' with my groups."You can obviously handle one more," I was told.

Of course I can! My 8s are my pride and joy, and adding one more lovely child to the mix won't hurt me a bit.

Couple all this with the sugar I was fed at parents evening, and you've got yourself a pretty nice pile of praise.

Yep. I'm feeling pretty good right now, professionally. I really am starting to think this may end alright for me, if I just keep the momentum going. I've just got to keep my wits about me, and not get lazy. Admittedly, I was starting to lose steam before Christmas, and my lessons may have suffered a bit. My attitude was also total rubbish, as just didn't want to put in the effort because I was tired of getting nothing back. I'm come to realize that if you put it in, the students will usually put it out. I'm trying really hard to keep my spirits up, and start the lessons off with a smile. Frowns are ugly, anyways. No one likes a grumpy Gus, especially not me.

My 11s also dropped their disgusting pervy talk, which was fabulous. That just means I won't have to get someone else to intervene, to cover my ass. Though, I swear I heard someone whisper "she wants me" today, after I said hello. Ugh. No, I don't. Gross. I felt like saying "I've got a super sexy fellow waiting back home, who is a zillion times the man you are, sweetheart," but that'd come off as 'banter', and we don't need that. Besides, what I write is always much ruder than what I'd actually say. I'm not nearly bold enough to say saucy things like that, unless I've had something to drink, in which case I'd say worse. But since being drunk at work is frowned upon, that won't happen.

Anyways, I feel like I've run out of steam now. I'm not entirely sure what else to write. I wish I could though, as I am aching to kill time. I've got my lessons planned for the week, and don't fancy working ahead, but Rachel is still in her room (surprise, surprise), and I doubt she'll be ready for some time yet. Ugh. I wish I'd brought those year 10 coursework assignments to school with me now, instead of leaving them on my bed for tonight. I could probably breeze through them, and then literally do nothing this evening at home. That'd be a welcome break, believe me. It's so nice to be able to go home and do absolutely nothing. It makes me feel like a normal person. You know, a person who doesn't do a million hours of unpaid overtime at home, like us crazy teachers.

We're a special breed, we are.

That's why we drink.

On Having An Amazing Day And Feeling Vindicated

Hold your breath, ladies and gentlemen...I think a momentous historical occasion is about to take place. An event that I was recently told does not happen enough....

...Yes, I am going to make a positive post. *gasp*

This isn't even just a post about a positive occasion. No, it's better than that. It is a positive post about....drum roll please...ME!!!

The start of this semester has seen some pretty amazing transformations, not only in my students, but perhaps in myself as well. I'm not entirely sure what to chalk this change up to, whether the entire thing has been in my head, or if things are genuinely changing as a natural course of things. Regardless, I won't fight it. Change is good. Change is great.

Last week I had a breakthrough week. It started with a brief tumble, but I've rebounded quite nicely. I ended on a high note for the first time in ages. I didn't come home cursing my job, ready to crack open a can of cider and drown in it. I came home, relaxed for a day, and then quietly got down to business on Sunday. I woke up this morning well rested, and in good spirits. It carried on through the day, as each of my classes breezed by.

The only minor hiccough, and it is minor indeed, is that my top set year 11s are TOO comfortable with me. I think we're at a really good stage in our relationship, though now I feel we've slipped too far into friendly territory, and may stand to lose a bit of authority. I'm not sure if I told you about the 'love' incident that took place on the last day of class, before Christmas. You see, I had one of my top set year 11 boys, we will call him Hank, stay behind on the last day of class. He kind of dilly-dallied around until everyone else had left, and then proclaimed is love for me. I kindly put him down, and thought that would be the end of it.

As it turns out, it's continued to be an ongoing joke in lesson. At first Hank seemed to be more embarrassed than anything, but now it appears as if he's in on it. In fact, I'm not entirely sure the crush is crushed. Today saw an insane amount of inappropriate comments hurled my direction. I tried to bat them off like they were nothing, but it really started to grate on me.

"Miss, what's the youngest you'd consider dating?"
"That's not appropriate, nor does it apply to the lesson. Get back to work."
"Miss, would you ever consider Hank, if he were older? Do you fancy the look of his face?"
"I won't answer that."
"Miss, how much do you think Hank weighs?"
"What does that have to do with anything? Get back to work."
"Miss, we have a question!"
"Does it apply to the work at hand?"
"Yes, absolutely!"
"Okay, what is it..."
"What would you consider is your type of man?"
"Good god...."
"Miss. Question about Canada. Whats the legal age? Can you date someone who is 15? Cuz Hank is 15...but I'm 16!"
"Good lord...."
"Just answer the question, and we will stop."
"It's 14, now get back to work..."
"OH SWEET....Um, Miss, when are you going back to Canada next?"
"..."
"Cuz I'm going to go there when you go there....and give it a try!"
"My dear, you are far too young for me. Must be born in the 1980s for me."
"Oh...my brother was born in 1981!"

And so on and so forth. I attempted to separate boys, move boys, took a hard stance, took a soft stance, and everything I did only added fuel to their growing perverted and inappropriate fire. Eventually I gave up trying to get them on task, and ignored them completely.

A few boys attempted to stick around after everyone else had left, but I started to get nervous at this 'ambush', and let them know that their behaviour was not only making me extremely uncomfortable, it was also scaring me a little. All I could think of was their going home, telling their parents, and my getting sacked for allowing their little banter to continue. I wasn't allowing it, and was ignoring their pathetic questions as much as possible, but I doubt anyone would believe me, regardless. I'm definitely going to have to try to be more careful in future, as clearly these boys don't know their boundaries. I'd hate to have to bring in the Assistant Head, to talk to them about their behaviour, as I don't want to ruin the general atmosphere of the class, but it may become a real option if they don't snap out of their dirty streak soon.

The rest of the day went off without a hitch. And then came the night.

The much dreaded Year 8 Parents evening.

A night in which the parents of my two top set year 8 groups signed up to come talk to me about their children. I was fully booked; each parent was strictly allotted 5 minutes of my time, in which I was supposed to sing their high praises (there was little else for me to do, considering the two classes are a sheer delight, and I consider them my 'angels').

I was insanely nervous going into the evening, especially considering no one else was booked up solid like I was. The other teachers kept joking that that is what you get for getting the two top sets; high achieving parents like to hear how wonderful their kids are, after all. Regardless, I felt a little bit nervous, as if the parents were more coming to scope me out as a teacher; to size me up and throw me to the wolves if they were not satisfied.

The first few parents in, I was blushing the entire time. My face felt hot all over, and I knew I must have looked like a silly little school girl, unsure of what to say or do. I was also sweating like a she-devil, and since I was wearing a skirt my bare legs started to stick to the pathetic plastic chairs they had us seated on. It was very uncomfortable, and I kept praying for relief.

Eventually, as I started to get more confident, and as the interviews didn't go down the tube like I had predicted, I felt the blush ease. I wasn't so hot all over anymore. I started to relax a bit, and started to really speak from the heart. Perhaps I was a bit too gushy at the end. Perhaps I was a bit too pretentious and 'teacher-y'. It doesn't really matter, because at the end I was nothing but sheer confidence. My last interview lasted 15 minutes, as I chatted away the parents of a very bright but underachieving boy.

By the time the last few parents were lined up to see me, all the other teachers in the room had long since filed out. It was me and them. And I entertained the lot of them, as they waited their turn. I was on fire. Sheer wit and professionalism, all rolled into one. Plus I looked dead sexy, to boot. I likely charmed a few dads, and used my cute-sweet side to win over many moms. It was clear skies for Miss Carson.

Obviously the evening went well, not just in terms of my performance with the parents. I also received a plethora of positive reinforcement from the parents. Many told me that their kids came home gushing about English. Many were thrilled to bits that their child FINALLY enjoyed English lesson (after what was apparently a bad year in year 7). I had more than one tell me to keep doing what I was doing. I had more than one THANK me for what I was doing. They all shook my hand warmly, and seemed sincere in their appreciation. I tried to ooze that sincerity back.

It was a fabulous ego boosting, confidence reassuring night.

I am not a shit teacher, and my efforts do not go unnoticed. I can do this. I can do this well. I DO do this well.

Hot damn.