There are one and a half school days left. I have to have my classroom packed up, my grades in, report cards stuffed, and files all managed by Friday at 4:00pm. Oh and did I mention that tomorrow night I can't work on any of it because I have to be at the 2.5 hour 8th grade promotion. Guess we are pretty proud that our kids made it through 8th grade. Nice..lower the expectations and they shall achieve. But I digress, back to my to-do list. This thought alone sent me into a complete panic attack right after the kids left today. How does one handle this? By going for a run. Problem is, I took the trail along the river that spent a good chunk of winter and spring flooded.
Not only did I have difficulty navigating the trail through the shoulder high grass, brambles and the three (yes, three) fallen trees across the path, but I remembered why I don't run this trail this time of year. The only thing that can grow under those conditions besides hypodermic needles (which seemed to be there as well), is stinging nettles. Oh that familiar first singe as your memory banks search for that familiar burn. What is that?? Oh crap!
So rather than drive myself back refreshed and ready to pack up my classroom, I drove myself home and tried to clean the burn off. I somehow even managed to get it on my face. Probably when I grabbed my leg in pain and got the oil on my hands. Needless to say I came home feeling pretty deflated.
What does one do when they feel all hope is lost? Check their grad final of course. May as well add insult to injury. Except for that one time in life when your professor who has ridden your ass all term with all kind of stupid stuff calls your work "impressive." What? I checked to make sure I had logged into my own account and hadn't hacked someone else by mistake. Further more, my cover letter and self reflection gleaned this "you should be a writer."
Whoa Nellie! Me? Like Samantha in Sixteen Candles I have the urge to look behind me and see if he is talking to someone else. Me? The person who just last term you shredded to bits and implied I had no business holding a pencil (or typing a stroke). In my defense, I knew it was good when I wrote it on Sunday. I didn't know it was that good though. Damn, that is one hell of a way to finish up my core classes.
I'd say pinch me, but I think the nettles already took care of that one.