Saturday, July 7, 2007


I am teaching a summer-course at a catholic school.

I am not teaching anything that has anything to do with religion.

I am sweating because I can’t quite figure out the air-conditioning.

I am looking for chalk and have found an empty liquor bottle.

I am looking at a poorly-researched project about Zeus on the back-wall corkboard.

I am enjoying talking to a captive audience.

I am varying my tone and cadence to keep the attention of the class.

I am yelling at the top of my lungs, startling teachers passing in the hall.

I am standing on a desk and looking into the eyes of surprised students.

I am withstanding glares from other teachers because I am smoking on my break.

I am being referred to as "Chris", and then as "that guy who looks like Chris".

I am giving the wall-mounted Jesus above the door a thumbs-up.

I am absolutely overusing the words "damn" and "hell".

I am accustomed to the silence of a joke failing.

I am more than happy to fill the void with my own laughter.

I am convincing someone to read A Brave New World instead of Fahrenheit 451.

I am convincing someone to go into film school instead of science.

I am being called a "wacko".

I am trying to think of a longer one-syllable word than "thoughts".

I am impressed that none of this has anything to do with what I’m teaching.

I am surprised that only 2 of my 13 students are male.

I am unsurprised that 3 of my students appear to be southpaws.

I am writing this while my students are taking a test.

I am acutely aware of my shredded vocal-chords after only 4 days of teaching.

I am having a fucking blast.

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