You've been warned.
When I opened my journal today, looking for something to do to take my mind of the headache of a class I had just "taught," the words on this page jumped out at me.
"Rub Here With Dirt"
It is a metaphor of sorts.
The arrows might as well be pointing at me; the instructions directed at my students.
Most days, when they leave, I feel the need to shower to scrub off all of the crap they throw at me for 60 minutes -- complaints, comments of an inappropriate and somewhat sexually explicit nature, sarcasm, defiance, blah, blah-blah, blah-blah...
In essence, I feel covered in dirt. They leave my room in an absolute mess of their personal garbage and filthy attitudes.
To rejuvenate myself today, though, I transferred that mess, that dirt, into my journal. It was a transferral of the mess they make of my class, to a little mess on a blank page of a journal just begging for it.
Take that, obnoxious
And anyway, it was really only one hour of my day. I'm actually pretty lucky. Once they stampede out of here, I'm left alone for lunch and prep in one of the few classrooms with a window and green leafy plants (where I got the dirt from), so I can admire the spring sunshine and decompress with a blog post.
Thanks for listening!
to the melodramatic ranting of a teacher.