Recovery Time

I was cruising on Friday--just cruising. I had been working pretty steadily, entering grades--my grades were not stellar, they were not pristine, but after six weeks of computer outage in 14 weeks of school, well, they were at least UNEMBARRASSING...

I had two things to do. One, enter the late work that my more inconsiderate 6th period students threw at me at the beginning of class, (I knew they were going to do it--I was just thrilled the little goombahs weren't waiting until Monday morning)and two? There's this thing we have to do, where any kid with a C- or lower gets a comment put on their report card of 'in danger of failing' next to their grade. It's a Cover Your Ass sort of thing--say that C- kid doesn't turn in a ginormous project at the end of the semester and his C- grade turns into an F. We need to put that mark there (or make phone contact--not always as easy as it sounds, btw.) so mom and dad don't freak out and accuse us of not being in contact with them about their little procrastinator's precious grade. Anyway, I had to do that.

6th period, on Friday--I'd been working my ass off for two weeks to catch up. No real surfing, (okay, a little, but compared to what I'm doing in despair when the damned grading program isn't working? de nada...) no blogging, only a little writing, after school, as a reward for working my ass off with a whole heart and taking pride in my job when I thought that ideal had become some sort of chimaera, or the dish of the chameleon, promise crammed. (Yes--I am teaching Hamlet--why do you ask?)

6th period on Friday--my inconsiderate goombahs had handed me their last-minute-sub-standard make-up work, including some half-assed attempts to make up for a project presentation so awful that nothing, in years of teaching regular twelfth grade, could surpass the total suckage of what these supposed honors students produced, and I had a timed writing planned at the end of the period. The work would be graded, it would be entered, a half an hour after school to put in the little in danger of failing mark, and I was free and clear. I might even (because the Cave Troll has been having suck a sucky time of it) call in sick on Monday and give the poor critter a chance to chill our and lose that flesh eating beetle that is still apparently firmly lodged where it should not be.

6th period on Friday.

And my fucking grading program falls to the earth and burns with a crash that could probably be heard in Canberra... (bells, did you hear it?)

Whatever happened was so bad, I'm left wondering how much of my data, that painstakingly entered data, will be left when I get back.

I spent the second half of Friday numb and exhausted from sudden onset depression, I'm sure. I spent the first 1/2 of Saturday stuck in one of those brain loops, where, if left too long to myself, I'd start picturing the worst case scenario, and my subsequent public meltdown. I started wondering, if this fucking thing drove me to a nervous breakdown, could work pay for the years leave of absence that it would take me to recover from this horrible, horrible year?

And then Mate came through.

The kids wanted to see Spiderman. I was going to stay home with Ladybug. But I wanted to see Spiderman. But I'm ALWAYS the one who stays home with Ladybug. So I said, what the hell--we'll see if maybe we can't get Ladybug to sleep or sit or something...it didn't work of course. Ladybug was her usual charming self, but that doesn't mean she sat still, and between her excess of personality and the entire bag of popcorn I dropped on the head of the unsuspecting 3rd grader the seat below me, Mate was pretty happy to pick her up and take her out, leaving me to watch the movie. (That popcorn thing was pretty funny, actually--the best part was the fact that the kid ATE most of what got dropped on him--and I'm not kidding about it being a full bag! Oh yeah--and the fact that the kid's mom giggled hysterically through the whole movie about it. Goddess bless her, she really did.) So Mate gets up, takes Ladybug and...

And I watched a movie. My neck relaxed, my smile relaxed, my FACE relaxed...and I liked the movie. I wish the 'Venom' part hadn't gone on so long, because Topher Grace made an excellent Carnage, but really? I got to watch a movie.

About 1/2 way through the Cave Troll came and took Mate's empty seat. AT the end, at the sad part, he pat my shoulder and said, "It's okay, mom...don't cry." But I did cry, and it felt great.

I only wish I could bring him to school on Monday, because I have the feeling I'm going to need that pat on my shoulder then.