Thursday, October 31, 2002

My school just received the scores back from last year. Not only is our school the worst in our district, it is the second-worst scoring school in the entire NYC school system. Can I pick 'em, or can I pick 'em? I can guarantee that we will have a news report about our school next year highlighting our dramatic jump in scores and comprehension. Our administration is top notch, honestly. They totally support me and really care about the staff.

I'm not sure of my future after last week's incident. Some people think I should leave, some think I should stay. I'm torn, as I'm miserable and really hating life right now. On the other hand, I don't want to feel like I've failed or gave up too soon. Every day is a struggle not to simply tell some of the kids that they are lousy little monsters and that they deserve whatever hell is in their future, that it is their choice. I know that I'm dealing with a product of years of bad circumstances, but that just makes me feel hopeless about my ability for any success.

This weekend is crucial to recharging my batteries. I had very little in the way of reserves, and last week's events wiped them out. At least I didn't get hit by any eggs today.

Wednesday, October 30, 2002

Here's a new and exciting bit of New York culture I just learned about. All teachers at my school and every other school in NYC are preparing for Halloween.

Costumes? No. Candy? No. Decorations? No. A phalanx of malicious teenagers armed with limited vocabulary and rotten eggs? Yes. I revealed the teacher's equivalent of 'new car smell' today by asking why everyone was so freaked out about All Hallow's Eve. The whole staff laughed at me and my insane naivete. Apparently everyone in NY finds it a natural event that children attack their teachers at the end of October.

Heads up to all New Yorkers. This doesn't happen in other places, just in your state. In other states that also have the death penalty, we simply get dressed up, eat candy until we're sick, and then go home. As far as I can tell, this is simply a natural extension of my 'bodega theory.' Bodegas sell lumpy milk, puffy ham, and tainted monkey clumps to unsuspecting shoppers like me. I'm sure that some of them drummed up this idea to get rid of large volumes of rotten eggs at a nice profit. Where someone like me would simply see chicken reproduction and educators and youth who supposedly can't afford pencils, some bodega owner saw a marketing opportunity.

Lucky that my head wipes clean.

Tuesday, October 29, 2002

Quick update before bedtime- things are getting better at school, I'm recovering. I've been wanting to write some more, but it's been really busy. Everyone who has emailed or called, thanks for the support. It means a lot to me.

Sunday, October 27, 2002

Ever since I bought my first Pop Swatch, I've never been particularly fond of the whole damnable spring forward / fall back schedule. For those of you who own just one pathetic watch, try resetting fifteen of the little ticking buggers. I'm grateful for the bonus sleep hour, and it will make getting to class easier for the rest of the week, but I really just wish that the whole metropolis would move somewhere closer to the equator so we wouldn't have to worry about shorter days.

Last night I went out with Jen and Jen to my new friend Jen's place. A certain friend of mine has accused me of having a dearth of girl friends. He's incorrect, as they are all simply called Jen in New York. So Jen, Jen, Jen and I were joined by Mary and Patrick for a night of pumpkin carving. Jen and I worked together on a pumpkin, but due to a lack of communication, it essentially became one of those inkblot tests. I envisioned a skeletal tree, she carved out a happy tree chock full of leaves. She still carved out two exterior limbs that looked like crooked arms. I have no idea. The final votes ranged from an upside down penis, Brain from Pinky and the Brain, Peter Gabriel from the Shock the Monkey video, and a baby with encephalitis. We left it there, as I knew that it would simply scare my dog.