Breakfast for 134

Right now it’s 3:25am, and I have been up to 10pm for at least the past 3 nights, making Math from English, to borrow the minutes I don’t have, to grade the essays they write, to prove to me that they understand, or don’t.  But at this rate, I won’t know in time to make the difference I came here to make.

If balance is any indication, if living well is a great inspiration, they should sign up for gym, and ditch my class altogether.  I try so damn hard.  I cancel my life for them, and they aren’t even mine.   I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t.

When I’m out with friends, I forget, but when I’m alone, it creeps up like a kid’s toy car that’s been back-wound over and over.  There is so much left to do, and I haven’t finished three weeks ago, let alone today.  In the same way that I’ve wracked up college loan debt, I’ve wracked up a time debt, which is far more of an emotional debt anyhow.  I can’t really do this job.  I can do it, but not well, and not for lack of trying.  This is not what I came for.

Education is entertainment; I have become a puppet on the iPad screen of my students.  There is not enough time, love, patience or understanding for me study the machines of their meaning making, to catch every comma splice so they’ll catch their own comma splices , and butter them, syrup them and serve them up hot.


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