A Confession

So, I am going to reveal something about myself that is a little odd, and I probably won't do a very good job explaining it. How's that for a disclaimer?  :)  

I am in a mood. Not just any mood. This is a mood that has come and gone many times though out my life. When I am in this mood, I start to believe that nothing really matters. More so, I believe that I am not real, and that this existence is false. When I am in this mood, I stop doing homework because I cannot convince myself that there is really anyone out there to grade it. I also become a horrible teacher, because I stop believing that my students really exist. Furthermore, I make atrocious choices because I lose all concept of consequence. I really truly stop believing in my life as reality. There is something inside me that just snaps, and I refuse to believe that I exist. I feel like a cosmic mistake, a . . . joke.   

And, so, this is my mood. When I was little and the mood would strike, Brian Jackson, Marie Allred, and I would sit around at recess and have existential conversations. When I was in college and the mood would strike, I would wander the town, play with Nicki and Casey, and read a good book. But, now, in my Nephi state, experiencing reading burnout, I cannot do any of those things. So I sit at my computer and post my blog, a silly little rant that may or may not be real.  

I Wrote a Poem

Today a student handed in what was meant to be a free verse, original poem for points. The student instead handed in part of Walt Whitman's Song of Myself and tried to pass it off as his. I recognized the poem, and asked him about it.  He said, "Well, my dad helped me with it." I googled his poem and came up with the published work online.  He looked shocked.  In fact, he said, "Does that ever happen, when you think the same thing that someone else has already said?" Honestly.  If you want, you can check out the poem online.  

http://www.princeton.edu/~batke/logr/log_026.htlm

He plagiarized the stanza that reads as follows:

"With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums,

I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquered and slain persons."

Does he really expect me to believe that a 10th grader can use the word "cornet," or the phrase "accepted victors?"

State Speech and Debate

Whahoo!  Juab took 2nd place at State Speech and Debate.  I had a lovely weekend in St. George. The girls whom I coached took 1st and 3rd place in Original Oratory, and we were only 1 point away from taking sweepstakes.  It was a rockin' time overall.  The thing is, though, the weekend wears me out so much that I don't know how I can go back to work on Monday.  I left sunny St. George and came back to not-so Nephi.  And beyond that, I am tired after a week's work.  Life is difficult, I tell you what.  And I am such a complainer.

In other news, we spoke to the Gilberts via Skype today.  It was a first for me, and so nice to be able to have a conversation with them.

Tomorrow begins the last week of third quarter.  I cannot believe it!    

Hmmm.

I promise, I am not going to be nightly blogger.  At least, I don't think so.  There is just something so appealing about logging on and zoning out and venting.  And the thing is, only a few people know about this blog, so it's pretty much like no one is going to read it anyway.  I think.  Please, reply to this post if I am mistaken. :)

Today was an interesting day.  During 3rd hour, I received an email letting me know that JSD (Juab School District) salaries and names had been published on the front page of our local newspaper, The Times News.  What's more?  They posted these in order of highest to lowest, so I did not even make the front page cut.  I have some major mixed feelings.  Why the devil does any one care?  What is the motivation behind such an action?  What does it mean that I am living in a place in which this is front page news?  Why am I only worth half as much as some of those other teachers?  Okay, so I have an answer to that last one.  I am young and only marginally educated.  With age, as teaching becomes easier, my salary will increase.  Thus, in the world of teachers, the more work you do, the less you are worth.  Uggg. 

Jazz and High School

Just two thoughts tonight as I head to bed (FYI, I am actually in bed as I type due to the wonders of wireless internet).

Thought one: I am fairly sure that I am a lover of Jazz.  Honestly.  I am listening to evening Jazz music tonight on KUER 90.1 and I dig it.  It's groovy.  It makes me feel like dancing.  It's so mellow, and there is something about it that almost instinctually matches my mood.  I am feeling a little melancholy, and the music is right up my alley.

Thought two: I went to the high school weight room for a while tonight.  As I was leaving, I felt a twinge of sadness.  There is something about being around eternal youth, young bodies with fresh faces, that makes it difficult to think about growing old.  I feel old today.  And I wonder: would I feel less old if I did not work at a high school but instead worked only with adults? Would I feel more old if I were still working at a jr. high?  

I have no answers, but, man, today I am all jazzed up about feeling old.

Reading Burnout

I never thought in my whole life that I would say this, but I am sick of reading.  My eyeballs are tired.  My neck hurts from the strain.  Not only that, but I am so bored with the words I read.  In class we talk about voice as one of the six traits, meaning that what you write should "surprise and delight" the reader.  Here's the catch: nothing surprises me or delights me.  The essays I read for my Masters program are blah.  The writing my students do for the most part merely demonstrates their procrastination.  Beyond that, I do not know what to do.  I do not feel like reading a novel.  I do not feel like reading the paper.  I feel like becoming a veggie and blowing off reading altogether.  It makes me feel guilty, to be an English teacher who no longer wants to read.  What is wrong with me?  I'd like to know, dear reader, have you ever experienced reading burnout?

(A)Miss Cook

I called my blog as I did because last Wednesday I had an amusing thing happen in class.  Over the intercom Paul Messersmith sounded, "Mrs. Stanley."  I replied, "No, Mrs. Cook."  Pause.  "Miss Cook." Pause. "Cook."  Messersmith said, "Oops, wrong room."  When our conversation ended, my students stared at me as though I was a lunatic.  I smiled and said, "Oh, man, I forgot that I was a miss."  One student heard "amiss" instead, and laughed at my would-be pun.  So, I suppose, being the unmarried in my family who is of a certain age, I am an "amiss" Cook.  Or, more optimistically, I so often forget that I have a first name, because I am always Miss Cook. :)