The sun is shining unabashedly, the fruit trees are blooming, I played Bach to an open window this afternoon, and I'm only going to write about the good things in life.
I left school in a good mood, as I often do these days. My students are endearing themselves to me more and more and the months pass. If I ever become a teacher (which is looking more and more likely), it would be for the endless possibilities of the job -- not only could I endlessly and endlessly master the art of teaching, but every one of my students is endlessly fascinating. As we learn to trust and understand each other, each one crafts a unique rapport with me. April seems too soon to leave.
Not to exaggerate my competences as a teacher either, but I've felt different lately, standing before my class; more at ease. I'm chipping away at my discipline issues (my middle schoolers listened to me this week, which is what getting high must be like). I'm learning to talk slowly, repeat the directions, and explain when we use the past simple instead of the present perfect.
I would not say that I'm a good teacher, or a natural. But I feel good.
I'd meant to describe my weekend -- a leisurely Saturday lunch shared, a blue-skied morning of music with poets and friends, and hearing Joan Baez sing in person. But you can imagine.