Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?

August 14, 2010

Returning to work this past week has left me feeling as fresh as a new parent, minus all the lactating and diapers, although I’m sure the Depends are just around the corner. It’s odd how quickly some parts of me have accepted and adjusted to my return to responsible living while other parts of me lag behind like a Valley Girl running the 100-yard-dash in gym class.

My internal clock is mostly spot on these days, having nudged my recent “wake up” calls closer to the 4:45 a.m. hour I preferred last school year. I honestly can’t recall the last time I’ve actually needed the “alarm” feature on my alarm clock. Maybe it’s because I’ve got it set to a radio station whose male morning “personality” annoys the heck out of me, so my motivation to avoid waking to his voice is stronger than my desire to sleep in. An effective strategy, indeed—one that son Eric successfully uses when he’s called to ask “Paper or plastic?” on early Saturday mornings. Nothing like a little Beyonce to get Eric be-ouncing out of bed. . .

While my internal clock may be happily humming away, though, my internal calendar continues to blow haphazardly in the wind, its pages flipping sporadically, its information never quite right. I had to be reminded, more than once, that yesterday was Friday. While the news was joyfully greeted with each reminder, I know that the dark underbelly of this condition will bear its ugly head some Monday or Tuesday in the near future, leaving me befuddled that the weekend is so far away. I think this is why I had to rewrite and tear out my lesson plans three or four times yesterday, because I couldn’t quite grasp the idea of 24-hour periods of time, each associated with a different date on the calendar. This might be a good time to develop a ravishing love affair with pencils.

Finally, this past week, I have struggled mightily with the shear, butt-numbing side effects of long-term chair sitting. Even my rare, cushioned chair friends have let me down and left my nether regions tingling. For some reason, sitting is an entirely different beast when it’s for a meeting than when it’s for a family “Frasier” fest in front of the T.V., where my attention is piqued and my buns happily nestled.

Unknown dangers still lurk in my near future. While these have been mostly physical struggles, there lies the most ominous of possible scenarios, still yet to be worked out—how will my mental faculties function when students return next Wednesday? Will I struggle to put names to faces, will I stumble as I try to engage my teenaged audiences, some of whom are there only because of government-issued ankle wear? This remains to be seen. For now, I suppose I should relish this new-found weekend, putting aside curriculum and instruction and focusing, instead, on more demanding questions such as “What time’s Scrabble?”