My my what a few months it’s been. Full of marking, NYC planning, marking, telling my classes I’m leaving, sciatica, marking, a strict gluten-free/processed-free diet, planning moving, marking.
I am thoroughly enjoying teaching in the classroom right now. No learning objectives, no plenaries, just good old-fashioned reading, chatting, sharing, locking naughty students out, Frankenstein mask scaring (not just me without make-up, an actual mask) and planning of pizza parties. They’re still working but without realising it and they’re ruddy loving it. If teaching was like this all the time I’d be happy. Alas, tis not the case but that is why I am leaving, to focus on making a life for myself rather than just making a living. I’m going to miss the students more than much.
11 working days to go. I cannie believe it, this is actually happening. What I like most is that I’ve told a few students that I’m going to write a book and every time I walk down the corridor now someone asks me about it – so now I really have to do it. Awesome MC, my year 13, said to me “Hang on, Miss, are you a person in real life who is actually following their dream?”. And I thought, yes, yes I am. Out of the quagmire of modern state school politicised teaching there must come some good, and that’s understanding the people I am writing the books for. These beauteous chappesses and chaps.
I can feel this invisibility cloak lifting. Like will I really be able to use my full name on social media if I so wished without some insinuation of unprofessionalism? And be able to perhaps pop my head out of the door, nay even make a commitment I won’t have to break due to pure exhaustion, midweek, on an actual school night? Wear clothes that aren’t up to my neck and way below my knees? This. Is. Blowing. My. Mind.
It may sound cheesy but a year ago, before my operation, I bought myself a ‘hope’ book and I wrote in it the life I wanted for myself: Flat in London. Big windows. Writing desk. No teaching. Alarm-free mornings (both the beeping kind and the stress/panic kind). With time to write and blog and walk and see people and volunteer and breathe. Well, hello reality! There she blows. And she gon be better than my dreams.