Dreams of ditches, Shakespeare and cats...

I used to have this joke with my friends at university. Every time things got a bit mad, and I started freaking out convinced I would either fail or have a nervous breakdown, I used to say that one day they will find me in a ditch, clutching homeless cats, and reciting Shakespeare. My version of a crazy cat lady. And we'd all laugh and they'd convince me that if that happened they would visit me, even going so far as to point out suitable ditches for me at the side of the road (I am now starting to wonder if this was more than just harmless jest, maybe they actually WANTED to get rid of me. Hah.). In any case, I landed up a teacher.

I am starting to find that ditch mighty appealing.

 LO class, grade 10. Going through the South African Bill of Human Rights.  Cue attitude-I-don't-give-a-damn-life-should-revolve-around-me student:

"Miss, if I have the right to an education, and its my right, then surely that means if I choose NOT to do homework, then that's my choice and you shouldn't be able to punish me? Its not like homework helps us anyway".

And people wonder why I don't want to have kids and bring them up in todays society.

I sincerely wished I could have gone into Shakespeare mode and dramatically pointed to her going: "OUT OUT DAMNED SPOT, OUT I SAY!!!!" and sent her scurrying out my classroom, never to be seen from or heard again.

But I'm afraid that may have been grounds for the school to fire me.... hmmm...

Anyone know of a good ditch?

Oh woe is me...

To mark or not to mark

That is the question

To suffer the grammar and spelling

Of outrageous answers

Or to take pen to the seas of paper

And by marking, finish them. 

To eat, to sleep, no more

And by sleep to say we end the long nights of

endless red pen...

Tis a possibility devoutly to be wished...

To eat, to sleep, perchance to dream,

ay, theres the rub, for in that sleep there

would be no failures and stupidity 

of students who shuffle through the mortal land of school.

As you may be able to tell.... I have a sea of marking... An endless torrent of work that never ends... my red pen is reaching it's end and I fear it's funeral is around the corner... Alas... Oh woe is me... 

I need coffee. Stat. 

        

Wait... I said WHAT?

LO lesson... aka sex education (as if teenagers these days actually need it...)

So there's me, long day, trying to talk 18 year olds out of having sex....

"Ladies, if you fall pregnant now, how many of you actually believe that the man will stick around? He's 18, he has a future, he doesn't want to stick around and take care of a baby. No ways. He will go off to varsity, his life ahead of him... and you will be stuck looking after a baby. Then ladies, you are screwed. Literally and figuratively..."

<silence>

<class erupts into laughter>

Sometimes I worry about myself... Am I really good for these kids?? The other day I caught myself speaking in memes... (yes, I know, the horror of it all). We were reading a play which had the word "arse" in it which my girls found hilarious. I informed them that since they all SHOULD have one, they should be able to say it without giggling. And then, in my best American accent I went, "Dat ASS, whooo!".... I thought I said it to myself... apparently... I didn't...

Note to self: Do not spend weekends procrastinating on 9gag when you should be marking... Only leads to jokes that only you find funny.

Most commonly asked question...

"Miss, MISS!"
"Yes?"
"Are you married miss?"
<silence>
"Listen to what you just said..."
"Wha... oh. Miss. Right."
<silence>
"But wait, MISS, you have a ring on your finger!"
"It's on my RIGHT hand girls..."
"Does that mean you're engaged???"



Sometimes... a face palm is the only adequate response.    

Idiosyncrasies...

I have discovered that I have a favourite red pen. Don't ask me what makes it special (and no, I haven't named it), but when I find myself faced with a mountain of marking, I search for my trusty friend, and cannot possibly mark effectively without it. All the other red pens in my collection seem inferior in comparison, and their ink not near as bright and cheerful, especially when circling a fail mark on a paper. In fact, when I do it with my special pen I almost feel like humming and even do it with a bit of a flourish! Oh, it just fits in my hand so well, and ticks with such ease. I don't know what I'm going to do when it runs out. Perhaps hold a funeral around the waste paper bin... 

I also seem to be addicted to giving stars. I know I'm dealing with teenagers here, but putting a star on one of their tests almost makes me break out into delighted giggling. In fact, sometimes I go mad and put TWO stars on the paper! Its crazy, I know, I'm just a daredevil like that. Maybe its the shock that one of them can actually get an A that sends me into this silver and pink shaped celestial madness, who knows.

 I've heard you can now get red pens that are erasable and if you put them in the deepfreeze, the original writing comes back. I feel like a kid whose just been told that you can now get candy that never runs out. Out with the age of correctional fluid! I need to get me one of those pens!!!

The laminator... my new best friend...

I used to believe I was kind of cool... well... sort of... to my friends at least... well... okay, in MY mind I was cool. I used to have a life! Or at least I thought I did, some people can't quite call shopping a life, but hey, it kept me happy.

And then, I became, a teacher.

Now, instead of gorgeous clothes and the latest fashions, I find the object of my true fascination and delight... Burt!!

And no ladies, he's not some cute photo copy boy we ladies perve over in the staff-room.

And even if he was, my boyfriend may be reading this.

Nope, Burt is none other than my laminator.

Yep, you read that right, my laminator.

What is it, about this sleek, silver, hot machine that makes it so utterly irresistible to teachers? The moment when he takes the plastic sheeted document from your hands and molds it together, so seamlessly, so effortlessly, and makes it so shiny and durable that you just can't help but give him every single piece of paper that you can possible find? He soothes my troubled nerves, he is a kind of zen machine, I feel calm knowing my papers are safe with him and they cannot be torn by some ruthless, hormone crazed adolescent. 

I've heard that this fascination is quite normal. I fear my boyfriend and family believes I have lost my mind.

The Journey Begins....

I always thought the stage would be my home. And so it became. I left school to persue my dream of the arts, and studied a degree in Drama and Performance. And I revelled in its splendour until a rather nasty reality call in the form of graduation hit me. I was an actress, yes. Was I any good? Debatable. In any case, I knew that I had to find a different stage. And in a moment of inspiration (I am starting to believe it was more like deluded desperation and the need for a car that didn't break down every 2kms), I decided that being a teacher would be a SPLENDID job, and surely the pleasure of educating young minds would far outweigh the rather meagre salary... 

I am starting to believe I watched too many movies about young American teachers changing their delinquent students and becoming their lifelong heroes. Robin Williams and Hilary Swank sure made it look easy.

In any case,  I became a drama teacher, and by some strange twist of fortune, a LO teacher as well. (For non South Africans, its a class where kids get to learn about life and get given marks. In theory. In reality however, its a place for them to talk about sex and use up the lesson trying to distract the teacher from actually going through the textbook). And in a moment of madness I believed a high school teacher would suit me best. Apart from the fact I still look like I'm 18 and meant to be in class, I felt I could relate to them better then any screeching midget.

Three months in, I'm starting to question how sane I really was when deciding this.

And so, before the masses of hormonal, screeching female teenagers at the all-girls high school I teach at consume me... I felt I better record my days. Just in case they're in need of evidence when they find me huddled in the corner, fetal position, clutching my Complete Works of William Shakespeare and an apple, rocking back and forth, muttering: "it would be rewarding, they said... you'll love it, they said.... you're smarter than them, they said.... why... whyyyyyy"........