My second period class is torn between the people who really like me and the people who resent the fact that a lot of the kids really like me, and they want to show the first group how ineffectual I am. It's an ugly dynamic--a lot of nasty, passive aggressive shit going on, and I'm not a 'yell-er', I'm not arrogant, and I don't have that "Do what I say because I'm the shit" sort of demeanor. A lot of my classroom management depends on convincing the students that their own desire for civilization really does trump their own desire for anarchy. It's a simple formula, and I rely (a lot) on the common sense idea: they completely outnumber me, and I refuse to be a bully. If they decide they don't want an education, I'm not going to shove one down their throats. But I can ask them to leave when they make life difficult for others.
Of course, I do have a temper, and when it flashes, my "Get the fuck out of my room" will surface, but I hate that too. This shit is why educators burn out. This, and the constant tension between what the state wants us to teach and what we think is good to teach and the fact that the state doesn't know it's fucking ass from a hole in the ground. *OI*
Is it any wonder that I spend a certain amount of time combing my e-mail and amazon.com looking for good news? Or the rest of it writing, hoping to make some good news of my own?
Sorry--didn't mean to get too heavy for you. I did have a good meeting with my creative writing club--a couple of kids brought in WIPs that we read aloud, and we had a nice discussion when asking for prompts for next week. (We settled on 'Brain Porn', which just goes to show you I've got to stop giving recommendations, because my shit is usually a lot edgier than theirs. Sad but true.)
There has been knitting going on--my LYS put out a very simple, very elegant pattern for a slouchy hat in sock-weight, and, bless Roxie, I'm using my Crabby McCrabbypants yarn to make the hat for Chicken. (It's part of her birthday present.) I've also started some alpaca sock-yarn gloves for my Crazy Friend Wendy. She's got some sort of syndrome that makes her circulation shut off in her extremities in the cold--so I promised to make her some gloves in which I could (ala Roxie) leave the tips of the fingers open, so she can just push the fingers down so she can type in her office. I was going to go fancy, but it's getting cold fast, so I figure basic glubs will have to do--it's okay, the yarn is pretty succulent, I can live with some basic glubs.
And that's what I've got--Deacon and Declan are waiting--In the last three weeks I've written nearly 60,000 words. My house looks like shit and I'm EXHAUSTED, but this work... it just seems to write itself. I'm a little wary of the shit that writes itself--I usually find lots of small pockets of editing nightmares, where my brain outstripped my fingers and my fingers jumped the gap--but I'm so immersed in their world. And the guys are... well... they're wonderful. Absolutely rounded, flawed, perfect, amazing, hot guys.
*squeal* *swoon* *thud* yeah... I guess we know where I'll find lightning...