So I’ve been on the schedule of a typical academic calendar for thirty-five years now, nonstop. My husband assures me that this consistency is the reason for the reinforcement of my periodic stress. In other words, I’m conditioned to be overworked and therefore stressed out beyond reason from about the end of April through Memorial Day.
I cannot argue with his logic. Especially not right now, when I’m in the middle of the busiest two weeks of the school year. I would argue, but frankly, I don’t have time. There’s a stack of papers nine inches tall waiting to be graded, and I haven’t even given my final exam yet.
There are other times during the year when I am similarly busy and stressed out. However, between Thanksgiving and December finals I’m too happy about the holiday season to worry about it much. Then, I’m blissfully able to remind myself that being behind at school is always a finite problem: the semester always ends, and by hook or by crook, report cards go out, and then I’m done. But right now, the summer break, when I can devote myself more fully to my writing, is so close that all I can think of is how burnt out I feel every time I sit down to work. The glorious weather and the wall of windows in my classroom that look out onto a lovely courtyard do not help. (My friend Amber, who used to teach at UC Santa Barbara, could see the Pacific Ocean from her office window. That would be worse, I think, but only for my work ethic.)
I used to have insomnia the beginning of August every year, from the time I began teaching until the time my daughter was born. (Then I didn’t have the insomnia because I was just so damn tired all the time I couldn’t possibly have trouble falling asleep. Not at any time, not in any place.) A lot of my colleagues experience this also, the inability to sleep well (or, in some cases, at all), for about two weeks before the school year begins. I suppose we should all count ourselves lucky that we care so much about teaching that we worry whether we will do it well enough. I will say that my colleagues continually inspire me with their energy, talent, and devotion to their students’ success. As teaching careers go, I’m at what Bull Durham would call “the show.” And I’m grateful for that.
But this means that for a while a few times a year, the other stuff I do suffers a bit. For example, my blog. Let’s just call this post a long-winded apology for not a lot of substantive sharing lately. It’s not that interesting and important things haven’t been happening. They have. I’ve even had a few episodes of mildly worthwhile introspection about them. But since Easter, it’s been a maelstrom around here. Yes, work has been busy. Yes, my daughter turned seven. Yes, my writing has been doing interesting stuff. But also, people have died.
Some of all that I may blog about this summer; I don’t know. I am fairly certain, however, that I will write much more substantial things for you, dear readers, more often than I have the last several weeks. I appreciate that you’ve stuck with me thus far.
I’ll be done with this school year by the end of May. I’ll still have school work to do over the summer, of course — the idea that teachers don’t have to work during the break is a damaging myth worthy of Depeche Mode’s “Blasphemous Rumours” — but my time will be more my own and less frenetic. Or at least that’s the plan.
Until then, go on and vote in my poll from last week. You know, the one about The Silliest Thing You’ve Ever Heard. Tell everyone you know to vote also. Do it before tomorrow, when voting will close. I can’t wait to find out who the winner is, especially since at the moment there is a three-way tie for first place.
And as for all the rest, thanks for hanging in there with me. All the best.