Cold Shower Floors, Cold Mornings
There’s about 10 minutes in every morning that I hate being a teacher.
These five minutes start when my alarm clock tells me it’s 6 a.m. I know it’s lying, because I set my alarm clock 20 minutes fast. I doubt I’d really even care about my alarm clock lying like this, were it not also telling me that it’s time to get up. In these 10 minutes, I hate my alarm clock.
I flop out of bed, dragging my carcass across the floor, towards my buzzing, buzzing alarm clock. I hit it once, twice, three times before it finally shuts up. In the brief silence, I rue the day I decided I wanted to become a teacher.
I stumble into the shower stall, the shower head coiled and ready to strike with a blast of cold water. I try to block it. I mostly fail. After this, the rest of the morning is one tired, hazy blur.
Brief breakfast; brief blog; brief drive to school, to the tune of “Holiday in Cambodia.” My trepidation and anxiety haven’t melted away just yet. Early mornings: the backache that only slowly fades away.
None of this matters the moment I step foot on school grounds. It’s game time, and I like this game. I like this game a lot. By the time I see my students gathered before me, and assorted into groups of distracted, interested and I-really-don’t-wanna-be-here, I know I no longer fit into that last group.
I know I love this job. I know I will endure early morning alarm clocks, cold morning showers for this job. I hope this feeling lasts.