When the fifth graders enter their classroom tomorrow, it will be pandemonium - all the excitement of a panda without the rarity. I moved their desks today. Granted, they’ve been asking me for a new seating arrangement for weeks. They shouldn’t be too surprised, but I’m certain it will be an ordeal.
Our first quarter just ended. As I sit here, I can’t decide if I want to say it went quickly or slowly. I guess it just went. It went at a pace of its own, absent of time, absent of anything, really. Time is strange for me here. It doesn’t seem like one day passing to next, rather, one endless day that goes on like winter. And that’s not a bad thing. It’s just... this is all I have. The completeness of one goal makes everything meld together, and leaving becomes jarring, almost. I feel like I’m not explaining myself very well. Have you ever been so immersed in a book that you’ve read for hours? Not knowing the time? Not really caring to know? Then perhaps the soft buzz of your phone calls you back to reality, or the light becomes so faint that you can hardly read the page. You’ve forgotten phones or light or life even existed. For that period of time, time didn’t exist. It was just you and your book. Being here, doing this, is like being settling down with a good book. While I’m reading, nothing else matters.
I’ve been praying for patience lately, patience in many aspects of my life. But, today, I’m praying for patience at school. I take it too personally when students don’t listen or forget a book or forget an assignment or forget their heads. It’s not that I take those things as personal attacks upon myself. I don’t. Instead, my reaction is personal to myself. It affects my mood. It affects how I respond to other stresses throughout the day. I don’t think I overreact, but the fact that I react at all bothers me, probably more than it should.
Thankfully, tomorrow is Monday, and Mondays are meant for the soul.
St. Monica pray for me.
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