The Zombie Walk

Just finished reading all the new blogs from my classmates. I have to admit I found their frustrations and sufferings strangely comforting. The early optimism was making me feel downright inferior.

Things are okay. I mean, I am surviving. Putting one foot in front of the other, and getting through each day. My class periods are really not too bad. My classroom discipline problems are manageable, and my vice principal, Mr. Bic, truly backs me up. I still have the occasional student mouth off to me, but I always write them up, and a day or two later, they are out of my class, serving in-school suspension, which they tell me is a real punishment this year. I feel like I have actually lightened up quite a bit since the first week, and things seem to be going smoothly, albeit more relaxed-fit than I initially imagined, with my two Algebra II classes, which are small. (For them, I actually discarded the whole traffic sign thing, but I think it was still effective in getting my point across. These older students are able to follow my expectations, more or less, in a more adult, reasonable way, without so much prompting.) Other teachers at my school, both black and white, seem pretty supportive. I have met with a couple parents already, but so far the meetings have always gone well in the end, and the administration has always supported me. So I have no complaints, really. I feel lucky, to be honest. Oh, my Transition class remains a challenge, but half the time, the kids who are most disruptive are in ISS anyway, so the problem is more to motivate those who remain.

The problem is apathy, and sometimes I wonder how much of my students’ apathy is correlated to my own. Mr. Sharp Shooter called me out of the blue tonight to ask how things were going, if I was “having fun.” I hesitated just for a moment, and then I admitted no. I am not having fun. Of course, I always have something prepared to present to my students each period, some crappy lesson more likely than not thrown together at the last minute during my first-block planning period, a little warm-up, some lecture examples, and an assignment to get working on while I circulate around. An hour and a half of that times three, and we call it a day. I mean, I have been reasonably prompt in grading tests and quizzes (despite that stack of homework lying around here somewhere), but beyond that, I feel like I am actually doing a pretty crappy job as a teacher. “Uninspired,” is how I explained it to Shooter. In short, I am boring the hell out of everyone.

Each day, it never seems to matter what actual time I leave campus. I still get the same amount of work done after school, which is zero. I pack my bags full of high hopes of ending the cycle and having a kick-ass lesson prepared and all my various paperwork caught up on by tomorrow. But it never happens. By the time I get home, the last thing I want to do is think about school. Most days I never even manage to unpack my bag, and I end up watching hours on end of Law & Order instead. Thank God for my long first-block planning period, huh? Getting to work at 7:00 and not having to teach until after 9:30 is saving my life. Or perhaps I am abusing the luxury. I always was a procrastinator.

In the morning, it is difficult to get up, and I usually sleep in more than I hope—not from sleep deprivation but simple lack of enthusiasm. I actually dread the day. And it is different: Not dread of the kids or parents or discipline problems. Just dread of life. The responsibility of living, working, of breathing, of riding my bike there and back each day. Not looking forward to much. Just vaguely dissatisfied with life as it is, and not sure how exactly that is going to change anytime soon.

“Sounds like depression,” an outside friend told me over the phone this weekend. He’s probably right. But for the first time in a year or two, I have had passing thoughts questioning my decision to be a teacher. I feel like I am doing such a lackluster job and feel so uninspiring. And I am really not enjoying it too much. But this will probably pass. I know it will. I can bend without breaking, right? Sometimes I think it is okay not to be teacher of the year for a while, as long as you persevere and get better in the end. At least that is what I tell myself.