the tally

well my void,
tis i: melodramatic I, the Joy, the weather-beaten, storm-tossed, cortisol-ridden, and much- hyphenated sometimes teacher of room 237.
the count is 2 days. there are two teacher work days remaining within the 2004-2005 school year, and so, according to the calendar, round one is over. it's half-time. the band is out; the drill team's marching, and i am running towards the bench, all the while wondering, "what's the score?" how did i come out? well.
i have classrooms full of children who can't pass state-mandated tests, 10 extra lbs on my frontside and stretch-marks on my backside, sooty circles underneath my eyes, a new chin, stringy hair, a pile of unfinished grading, the ghosts of murdered forests crying vengeance as i lob their skins (worksheets) into unmarked graves (landfills via wastebaskets), 5 boxes of unfiled notebook paper sitting in my bedroom, and more paperclips than i ever thought possible.
not one of my shinier moments, per se. i kept waiting for the proverbial second wind or a back-up unit, but you know what, it never came and the game kept playing and i kept spinning, out of control, fumbling the ball...and can we be done with this metaphor already? please.

it's not been one of my more successful moments in time, per se -- but still, wanted to say, ok(?) that: today a student silently walked into my classroom, handed me an envelope and walked back out without so much as looking me in the eye. inside was a class picture and a letter that read (grammar uncensored), " hey Ms. Tang well yeah I know what you might be thinking why in the world is this student writing me a letter? Well first of all I would like to thank you for being such a great teacher and for helping me so much and well mainly I just wanted to apoligized if I ever made u feel bad. I apologized for the way I acted the first semester I mean its like tha saying people rejet the unfamiliar and I guess that is what I was doing. But I am so sorry and well that is all I wanted to say. I have really change part of my like I view things differently now. Well thank you so I guess I will see ya next year. Oh I also wanted to let u know I not only concider you as a great educator but as a good friend too but yeah I guess hope you have a great summer. Take care."
yeah. and so next year. spelling drills. and sentence structures. periods.
next year. next year, for you my children, you ungrateful ghetto-snipes, you wonderful, beautiful apparations with whom i have been so gifted to interface, however distantly for one moment, two years out of however many that you and i might live, for you. there will be a next year, at least that, one more year. for you, though you may never know it, i will gush with new blood (because there is none left). i will force it into my veins, the air; did you know i was smothering? i'll drink light and eat oxygen and i'll run red with it, and i'll do it because you are more than i am, worth more, and so i must rise to it. and so i must live; i must get well (because i am so broken), because i want to be there. I want to be here. want. the privilege of passing worksheets into your hands one more time.
and hey, after all, it's all about me.

the question we now ask (or a question i ask, if it is but myself and my void) is this : do our successes directly correspond to the amount of meaning we make, or take, from our given professions? Or, is meaning made of something else entirely? Of something less purposeful, more chaotic and accidental. hyphenated and marginal.
i don't know. but, i hope so. i hope i speak reasonably when i say that ... i have had not had a successful year, per se. but i have had a meaningful year. Nevertheless.

burn out

3 weeks left of school. but really, kids, who'se counting? right.

i am sure; i am certain that i have things to do, but when i get home from school, i stare at walls. white walls. this is what i do and as i can do nothing else, i have not, not anything for the past 1.5 weeks and counting. i cannot even remember what i would have done had i possessed the will to do it, so complete is this whatever it is.
white walls.
brain burning. (sorry faulkner)

i heard on NPR that the character Samantha, of the sitcom Bewitched, has been cast into a statue, and that this statue is being erected in Salem, Massachusetts.
so. i stared at my radio. so. i'm the one staring at white walls, sure. but these, people... i mean, c'mon kids. arthur miller vs. nick at nite. tragedies ala (what?) 1692 or travails de la 60's sitcom? death by drowning or death by pailsey print. no wait, i'm sorry. i forgot. she was a WITCH. clearly.
clearly.