Friday, May 26, 2006

Summer vacation is here.

Today is the first day of this year's summer vacation. It usually takes me until Monday to register that I'm on vacation. However, my margarita and beer yesterday helped me to feel relaxed and vacation-y. I'm paying for it this morning (such a teetotaler). Took some ibuprofen and had some coffee with my eggs-and-toast breakfast. That is another indicator that I'm on vacation, too.

I must confess my sadness at this school year ending, mixed with overwhelming relief. The relief comes from this infernal year simply ending. I conferred with several colleagues who have been teaching a long time (one of them for 40 years), and they confirmed that this year was one of the most difficult. Our principal got sacked 2/3 of the way through, so our AP took over, and we got a new AP. But then we got a new principal for next year, who is bringing in her own AP (apparently they can do that), so our old AP is out, too. I don't know how I feel about our new principal--she's been working in a school where many of the children are hand-picked, and doesn't understand why two people run our discipline office. Ha. I think she's going to have what is known as a "rude awakening."

The sadness comes from losing another friend to the lure of adventure. Friend S. is attempting to secure a teaching job elsewhere. He does not want to stay in this school district, and since he is single, is searching for jobs in places he would like to live--Scotland, Montana...and somewhere else I can't remember. He's moved out of his apartment, because his roommate is getting married and has moved out. This spurred him to purge his belongings and move the stuff he wanted to keep down to his mom's place.

Yesterday, the last day of school, I kept running off to the lavatory or some other private place, to cry. I can't imagine not teaching with S. next year. We've been teaching together for the past four years, and during the first year became very close friends, and have been since. We team-teach every day, me being the special ed teacher. I feel like I'll never see him again, which is possible.

Just last week, some friends of mine moved out of state. I feel like people are running away from me, and I'm filled with sadness. It's a difficult time in my heart.

This pain is lessened, however, by my daughter, who climbed into bed with us in the middle of the night, and since she wasn't kicking either of us in the kidneys, we left here there. I woke up looking at my girl, blinking slowly, turning her head, looking at me, smiling, whispering, "Hi, Mama," in the sunshine. Was it coming from the window or from her face?

I suppose I'll make it.

1 comment:

  1. Anonymous10:34 PM

    Look at it this way - we're not running away, we're just giving you someplace else to vacation. Eventually.