Another end of term flops its way past the finish line, and I am once again up to my eyebrows in marking. The strange thing this time around is that the overall student stress level seems much lower than last term.
I can’t figure out if this is because everyone (including myself) has prepared themselves for this, or if the grinding workload has pushed everyone past the point of caring; are we now creative automatons, spitting out work to the relentless beat of deadlines?
I would love to write more about my experiences as a teacher, but I can’t. Being a spectator and a part of this mass of emotions and personality and intelligence that is my students has been constantly inspiring. Keeping a daily journal has been almost effortless.
And yet my students and the administration know about this site. I have better things to do with my time than deal with any potential fallout from my observations. Web site be damned; it’s just easier.
An old acquaintance was in town visiting last week from The East, and it’s always refreshing to reconnect with someone I haven’t seen in a long, long time. I’m convinced that there’s something magical about certain friendships — how there can be years between visits, and yet the thread is picked up so effortlessly that it is like they never left.
It’s spring here. The sidewalks have become one giant, swampy mess, and pedestrians tread carefully, avoiding the deep, slippery puddles strewn everywhere.
