We had a workshop today on the topic of argumentative essays; these essays will be a part of next year's PARCC testing. During the workshop, we covered warrants, claims, evidence, and other terms of which I am not familiar. I sat there, boggled, wondering if I had the capacity to teach those skills to 6th graders.
After the workshop, there was only one word to describe how I felt---- downtrodden. Whereas I used to be able to do "fun" things in the classroom, mixed in with the normal formulaic essay instruction in prep for state tests, now I feel like the school district should just hire a robot in place of me. The robot would could be programmed with all of the necessary information to spew out of its monosyllabic mouth; it would not have emotional reactions to what it had to teach or tell children.
After the workshop, I drove home, ate a large amount of pretzels, drank half a beer, and took a nap. The sleep was anything but blissful. I actually probably did not actually fall completely asleep, but instead rested in the dark, hearing cars driving up my street and hearing the sounds of the neglected dog across the street.
A few minutes ago, I listened to Joni Mitchell's song, "Case of You." After the first few verses, I could feel my eyes well up with tears. That kind of crying is sometimes welcomed---it makes us feel human. That kind of crying reminds me of how wonderful simplicity is---good old fashioned emotions. Sometimes I feel like the world around me is filled with utter chaos. Who cares about big screen televisions, "On Demand" channels, or social media statuses?
I went to college because I thought that it was the "right" thing to do. You go to college, you work hard, and then you get a "good" job (however you want to define that). That's just what you do; I don't really know why.
It's 12 years later and I have a "good job," a house, and a mortgage--all the things of which the American dream consists. Sometimes I have a secret wish that the house burn down. I think back to when we lived in the apartment. We had extra income, although we didn't take advantage of it. We should have traveled to exotic places. The extra cash just sat in the bank account.
Meanwhile, my sister has, on a whim, lived in Florida. She then got tired of Florida and moved to St. Thomas. The sun brightly greets her on a daily basis. She works enough to have money to do fun things and that's how she lives her life. When we were younger, I think that people thought she would be a "loser" or a "lost soul." I feel that I, instead, am the lost, stuck soul. There has to be more to life than a tattered mattress in need of repair, cracked sidewalks, and windows that don't open.
After the workshop, there was only one word to describe how I felt---- downtrodden. Whereas I used to be able to do "fun" things in the classroom, mixed in with the normal formulaic essay instruction in prep for state tests, now I feel like the school district should just hire a robot in place of me. The robot would could be programmed with all of the necessary information to spew out of its monosyllabic mouth; it would not have emotional reactions to what it had to teach or tell children.
After the workshop, I drove home, ate a large amount of pretzels, drank half a beer, and took a nap. The sleep was anything but blissful. I actually probably did not actually fall completely asleep, but instead rested in the dark, hearing cars driving up my street and hearing the sounds of the neglected dog across the street.
A few minutes ago, I listened to Joni Mitchell's song, "Case of You." After the first few verses, I could feel my eyes well up with tears. That kind of crying is sometimes welcomed---it makes us feel human. That kind of crying reminds me of how wonderful simplicity is---good old fashioned emotions. Sometimes I feel like the world around me is filled with utter chaos. Who cares about big screen televisions, "On Demand" channels, or social media statuses?
I went to college because I thought that it was the "right" thing to do. You go to college, you work hard, and then you get a "good" job (however you want to define that). That's just what you do; I don't really know why.
It's 12 years later and I have a "good job," a house, and a mortgage--all the things of which the American dream consists. Sometimes I have a secret wish that the house burn down. I think back to when we lived in the apartment. We had extra income, although we didn't take advantage of it. We should have traveled to exotic places. The extra cash just sat in the bank account.
Meanwhile, my sister has, on a whim, lived in Florida. She then got tired of Florida and moved to St. Thomas. The sun brightly greets her on a daily basis. She works enough to have money to do fun things and that's how she lives her life. When we were younger, I think that people thought she would be a "loser" or a "lost soul." I feel that I, instead, am the lost, stuck soul. There has to be more to life than a tattered mattress in need of repair, cracked sidewalks, and windows that don't open.
1 comment:
I've got a case of the winter blahs. It doesn't help that you can't even take a walk since they rarely plow and never salt around here. It looks like the moon.
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