Mud

I used to read through my friend Stella's essays for her when she was in grad school.

This was back when we were working together in Hazelwood. She already had one degree in English and had been teaching literature for at least a decade by this point but insisted she needed feedback before submitting any work.

That lunatic would actually write 3 different versions of every essay and ask me to choose which one was the best.

She eventually got the degree and left to go work in Clayton, where -- surprise, surprise -- that kind of insanity is rewarded.

I remember she showed up on my doorstep one night months later, in tears. She didn't know if she could survive the new job -- she was getting 4 hours of sleep per night and answering 150 emails a day from middle school students and parents.

That was years ago. She's fine now, but that night always stuck with me because I thought, There is no fkking way in hell I could handle that amount of pressure. I would have a nervous breakdown, quit, or jump off a bridge.

Well, here I am.

And it turns out that the only reason it wasn't ME demanding 3 read-throughs of my essays was that I'd already finished grad school. And the only reason I wasn't putting in insane hours at school was that I hadn't yet gotten the new job. I am every bit as insane as Stella.

Here's the parking lot at my new job. This is what it looks like at 6 a.m. I know this because that is when I got here this morning. I am here every. single. morning. before the entire administrative team.

I won't bore you with the details of everything I've knuckled down and sacrificed to do this year.

Suffice it to say, I am worn the fkkk out.

And even with this insane level of dedication, I still had a senior eviscerate me in front of an entire class and say, "Why don't you figure out what the hell you're doing? This kind of 'teaching' might have worked for you in middle school, but if you plan on staying at the high school level, maybe you should spend some time learning to do your actual job.'"

I bawled my eyes out that night. The principal suggested we have a "restorative" conversation with the kid.

And this whole time, I just kept myself going by thinking, "It's only going to be this hard once! After all of these lessons and quizzes and curriculum units are set up and in motion, it will be so much easier! I just have to get through this year. Then I'll know what I'm doing."

Yesterday, my boss handed me a letter: Thank you for your service to FHSD. We wish you luck in your future endeavors and encourage you to apply again in the event that we have openings for which you feel you are qualified.

I am not exactly sure what I thought was going to happen in taking a one-year position. But I am sure that this letter was not it.

My boss explained that they won't have final student numbers from across the district until late February, and then -- if the numbers justify my position -- the job will post and I can apply for it. But if student numbers go down at any of the other high schools in the district and one of those schools has to cut an English teacher, that person will automatically be given the position I currently hold.

I think my brain just completely shut down at that point.

I think it just stopped.

Eventually, when my brain comprehended that my boss -- whom I adore -- had just told me that I need to start looking for new jobs, I managed to open my laptop and start looking for new jobs.

And then I closed it. The truth is, I do not have another "new" year in me. I can't do it. 

I feel like I barely pulled through the last 5 months. I was hanging on for dear life, grading essays and writing lesson plans and creating content on every single holiday break. The only way I managed it was by telling myself it would just be like this through May. That's how I handled being the first person in the parking lot every morning and wandering through the halls by myself some nights.

I know in the bottom of my soul I gave 110% -- I was Stella. And now there is just nothing left to give. I cannot physically, mentally, or emotionally put myself through another round of interviews like I did last year and then put in another first year somewhere else.

So now I feel like I'm just... floating...out there in space, disconnected from anything.

I know it's really a cliche to say that lotuses grow because they're rooted in mud and they fight through it. But this was my muddy year. I don't have enough breath for another one.