A Case of Nerves

An addled adult brain is not a pretty thing.  I know because it's 4:30 a.m. on a Saturday and I've been up for hours, emailing myself little "to do" lists that I've comprised in bed.  When it's very, very dark outside and even the bad people have called it a night.

I have no idea why my addled brain is set to Pan-Pacific time while my body knows only Central Standard Time.  It would be nice if the two were in synch.  I can only imagine how clever and sharp and appreciated I would be if my brain weren't a night owl these days.

This night owl has mostly been hooting about a new job assignment I've been given this school year, one that has tested me to the limits.  Which is ironic, because the assignment's focus is testing, of the standardized variety.

And, frankly, I feel like a flunky right now.  Which should probably make all those students who are tested beyond their limits feel just a wee bit better.

I cry about every three years, whether I need to or not.  Yesterday, about 8:30 in the morning, I was pretty sure that I needed to dump a load of tears.  I felt stupid, overwhelmed, underpaid and off center, four feelings that should never come together on the same street corner, more or less outside a classroom. 

I kept it together, but just barely.  And now I'm left wondering how I will be able to navigate these unfamiliar waters for an entire school year.  And all the school years that follow, assuming I am not removed from this new position.  Not that that would be such a bad thing.

I didn't ask for this new assignment, but I want to do well at it.  Not because I am a huge advocate of standardized testing (I have taken more of them than I've given, so my ignorance is both complete and very out of date).  I want to succeed at this task because so many other people are affected by it.

But there have been several times this school year when I've felt like a paratrooper who realizes she forgot to pack the chute.  

First and foremost, I want to be a good teacher.  I have no illusions that I'll ever be great at it, but, like a doctor, I at least want to do no harm.  With a work plate that never changes in its size, though, I am starting to think I took too much at the assignment buffet.

I'm not a complainer, but I have caught myself--more than once--sounding like the teacher in a Charlie Brown special.  Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.  I'm not a big fan of that imitation, so I guess I'd just better figure out how to do more, how to learn more, how to produce more than I've been doing, learning and producing during the first 23 years of my teaching career. 

Certainly, I'm surrounded by great folks who are happy to help.  But there are times when I feel boxed in by this new thing in front of me, and their offers are muffled by a strange sense of foreboding. 

I suppose what I'm really feeling like is a student who's lousy at tests but is rifling through her backpack anyway, hoping to find a # 2 pencil.