I’m very very tired

Only a little more than six weeks until school is over.  Something like 34 school days?  I can do this.  I have to do this.  But I just don’t wanna. :::insert foot-stomp here:::

I’m not doing student council next year, which is giving up a second job (and taking a 10% pay cut – ugh).  I can’t really explain how happy that makes me, but for the next month or so there is so much I don’t want to do anymore.  I don’t want to go to school this Sunday for the Hair-Raising event – the event that collects hair to make wigs for cancer patients.  Yes, I’m bitter about going to THAT.  And I don’t want to go on senior retreat.  And I don’t want to talk at our spring induction.  I just want to quietly go away. 

Of course, I can’t do that.  Every move I make, I’m watched.  Every action I take could have implications on me entering administration later.  A good friend reminded me tonight that I have to keep the goal in mind, but I’m not sure what the goal is anymore.  Why am I doing this?  Teaching, I mean.  Why? There are only about 20 kids I truly enjoy seeing every day.  There are only about 20 teachers I truly enjoy working with.  I hate papers.  I hate parents (sorry ’bout that post, by the way). I hate the time.  I hate whiny kids.  I hate being so tired all. the. time.

I know I write about this a lot, this exhaustion and frustration, and I’m sorry.  It’s where I am right now.  Frustrated and exhausted.  So hard to get through every day.  And I’ve brilliantly added the marathon to the mix.  Funny how the running feels like the least drain on me, isn’t it?

I promise to not stay here too long.  There are a lot of positive things on the horizon, I just gotta get past this.  Just gotta get through May 31. 


Coming soon to a trail near you

will be me, on my longest long run before the marathon.  I’m going to take the advice of my long-run partner and instead of running 20 miles am going to run 3 hours and 20 minutes.  He thinks (and he’s right) that it’s more important for me to get used to the time than the miles.  Considering my 19 miler took exactly 3 hours, that makes sense.  I’d hate to get to that 3 hour mark and still have an HOUR to go without being used to that. So off we’ll go…out for 1:40, back for 1:40.  Holy shit.  That’s a long-ass time. Not as long as the marathon will be, but because it’s a race, it will be different?  (hear that? that’s the sound of me fervently hoping it will somehow just fly by)  I’m guessing that time will get me between 22 and 23, and you know what?  I can do *anything* for 3 more miles.

All I know is that I’m SO tired of running.  I still enjoy the runs – in fact, Saturday’s “long” run of “only” 12 miles was super solid. Today was a 5-miler that was just…nice.  It’s getting so difficult to just get out the door.  Every day is scheduled around my run.  Every weekend is scheduled around my run.  Almost every day I hurt.  I ice.  I roll.  I stretch.  I massage.  I don’t know how people with full time jobs and kids and husbands do this all year long.  I don’t know how their bodies hold up!  As excited as I am about this race, I’m fairly certain I won’t become a “marathoner” beyond the slim possibility of maybe doing one a year.  I’m really looking forward to a summer of running what I want when I want. I’m really looking forward to some rest.  I’m really looking forward to a half. 

Wow.  I just wrote that.  I’m looking forward to a HALF.  A year ago, I was a week out from my first half ever, freaking out because I hadn’t run more than 10 miles since college.  Now I’m officially faster than I was in college and I’m a month out from a 26.2. Excuse me while I go eat some more candy to ward off the mini-freak out I feel coming on. 



Mostly, I hate parents who 1) think they know what the hell even goes on my classroom; 2) think they know better than I do what class policies are; 3) think their children can do no wrong; and 4) try to bully me into changing their kid’s grade. 

Fuck you, mom.  Fuck you and your “we” in reference to your KID’S work.  Fuck you and your insinuation that I am not doing my job.  Fuck you and your fucking demand to give your kid points for something he didn’t even do.  How about you come spend five fucking minutes in my classroom before you start dropping “we”?  How about you come see and hear for yourself that indeed, the expectations are laid out clearly every single fucking day before you tell me I didn’t lay them out?

No?  Can’t do any of that?  Bummer.  Fuck you for that, too.