Ouch

The point to is to write something at the end of each day. Even if I feel like overcooked pasta.

The most painful part about the first day back from vacation is the reminder that the children are still themselves. David still talks constantly. Dan still refuses to do work, no matter how simple, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact he is incredibly intelligent. Andrea still leaves the room without asking and when I don't notice even though I swear I am paying attention. And even more stark is the reality that I have not changed. Even though I am rested and rewarded and have had a few days in my classroom to think and organize, I am still the same teacher. I still misplace my lesson plan. I still forget to account for the fact that it is going to take three times as long to cut out the profile pages than I had planned. I still sweat through my clothes.

There is a fantasy of who I am as a teacher that develops over a vacation, like a photograph in a darkroom, that I can see with perfect clarity when there are no students in the building. On the first day back I am shaken awake, away from the dream, and the picture quickly fades to black, as if someone forgot to put it in the fixer.