Thursday, November 29, 2007

willing the weekend to begin

I don't like to be the person who says "I CAN'T WAIT!" too often because it usually means I'm not paying close enough attention to the here & now, and that can be sad. I try to appreciate as many moments as I can, reminding myself that no one likes to feel rushed or, worse, unimportant and dismissed.


Today I had a weird fogginess about me and even developed some shakiness during my first class this morning. Ack. The fogginess turned into a headache that was quite literally throbbing by 2:00; I noticed I was speaking very slowly and squinting as I escorted my last students out the door. They were backing away with worried looks, bless 'em.

I sat at my classroom computer with that I CAN'T WAIT feeling rolling over me - tomorrow I'm heading out to the Oregon Coast with my two best girlfriends for a weekend retreat with my church ladies (they're not these kind of church ladies, fyi).

Here are some weird and/or stupid things I narrowly avoided doing today in my fog and restlessness:
  • Resting my face on the cool smooth surface of my desk every few minutes
  • Gritting my teeth as I told a student, for the tenth time in 30 minutes, Yes you will be giving your speech today
  • Writing a blog post during lunch about how tired and out of sorts I felt
  • Telling a particularly obnoxious kid to just get the hell out of class, please, now, yes you
  • Crying when some immature boys kept guffawing through John Hannah's recitation of "O Tell Me the Truth About Love"
  • Lying down on the floor of my office for just a minute
  • Running off the road while trying to unwrap a Tootsie Roll on the way home
  • Crashing into a bus while trying to unwrap another Tootsie Roll

But avoid those things I did and I made it home unscathed, with a slightly diminished headache. I actually finished some PTA work (gasp!) and am now feeling more settled for the evening. I think I'll go spend time with the man who endures it all, just for me (and his occasional back rubs) before I disappear for three days.