#SoSC – The first three words from the nearest book:
“There’s these two…” days until school starts again, and my mind is messing with me like it usually does. Teacher nightmares make me wake up in a panic, and it’s always the same. I’m not prepared for class.
I shuffle in fifteen minutes late to forty-eight new eyeballs, waiting for me to be the same old English teacher they’ve always had. And I turn into her, unable to settle my class and make them listen. When they do, I can’t seem to talk straight. All of my handouts are missing, and I have to run to the printer to get them, but that takes another ten minutes out of class time.
Now, I’ve forgotten their homework assignment, and the next class is already pouring in to use the room. I can’t seem to pack my things without spilling them on the floor.
Sigh. This is my eighth year teaching at my university. You’d think I’d be over the nerves by now, but I’m sweaty and shaking and my fingers don’t work on that first day of class. Shit, the first two weeks of class, until we’ve all met one-on-one over their first drafts. We both become people to each other at that point, and most of them who show up scared, leave laughing.
Man, even with all of the nerves and frustrations in grading, I really love my job. I’m going to miss it a great deal. If everything works out, I might get to keep a class while I explore ways to actually make a livable wage with my MFA.
I’m nervous about that, too. So many things to worry about, it’s a wonder I get anything done sometimes.
Ah well, it’s that worry that drives me to keep doing, keep checking, keep improving. If only I can keep reminding myself that it’s not the end of the world until it’s the end of the world.
I can make it through anything else.
And breathe. This semester is going to rock. I’m ready for it. The funny thing is, my students are not prepared for me.
Go on and insert that evil cackle here because why not?