In Doris Lessing's novel 'The Golden Notebook', the narrator notes everything that happens to her on one day. It's a good writing exercise because it forces me to notice details and connect abstract thoughts to concrete things. So here is my day, for your reading pleasure (I assume it's for your pleasure, or you'll stop reading right now.)
I sleep through two alarms, but I'm finally nudged awake by the mutt, who must have gotten tired of listening to the beeping. It's raining, so I try to get inspired to take the dogs for a walk. I give the mutt her first dose of medicines. She has Cushing's Disease and has to take expensive but life saving meds three times a day. I scroll through Facebook and Twitter on my phone, while I sip a cup of coffee. It's Green Mountain coffee which I have delivered every six weeks. It's a luxury, but it's my one culinary indulgence. I don't spend money on good wine or food, so I can justify it. I can't put off the dog walk any longer. I dig out raincoat and Crocs for me, and wrestle the harnesses onto the dogs, who have figured out that it's raining, and yes, I'm still making them go out in it. As a tight pack, we trot up to the park and then I let them go to do their business. The mutt relieves herself quickly; the ten-pound dachshund is a little more delicate and looks at me morosely. I check the traffic report on my phone and discover that there's an accident on my route to work, so now the morning pace must be accelerated. I scoop the dachshund up, and we walk quickly back home.
I sleep through two alarms, but I'm finally nudged awake by the mutt, who must have gotten tired of listening to the beeping. It's raining, so I try to get inspired to take the dogs for a walk. I give the mutt her first dose of medicines. She has Cushing's Disease and has to take expensive but life saving meds three times a day. I scroll through Facebook and Twitter on my phone, while I sip a cup of coffee. It's Green Mountain coffee which I have delivered every six weeks. It's a luxury, but it's my one culinary indulgence. I don't spend money on good wine or food, so I can justify it. I can't put off the dog walk any longer. I dig out raincoat and Crocs for me, and wrestle the harnesses onto the dogs, who have figured out that it's raining, and yes, I'm still making them go out in it. As a tight pack, we trot up to the park and then I let them go to do their business. The mutt relieves herself quickly; the ten-pound dachshund is a little more delicate and looks at me morosely. I check the traffic report on my phone and discover that there's an accident on my route to work, so now the morning pace must be accelerated. I scoop the dachshund up, and we walk quickly back home.
I feed the dogs, make some toast, have another cup of coffee. I used to watch the comically inept local news for traffic and weather, but now that I have apps for both on my phone, I can sit in silence and darkness without the TV on. It's a nice way to gather strength for the day.
Get dressed. Decide against the outfit I picked out and opt for jeans and a thermal. My fashion style has slowly deteriorated (or evolved, depending on how you look at it) over the years. I used to wear skirts and blouses, or dresses, usually with panty hose and high heels. I now choose comfort over professional appearance, and my command of the classroom has not diminished. Take one last gulp of coffee, put a little eyeliner on, then I'm out the door.
The traffic is terrible. The accident mixed with the rain doubles my commute time. I pull into the parking lot just as the first bell is ringing and ignore the good natured ribbing I get from my students who are clustered around my door.
My first period is very funny. It's mostly boys and they're all good kids. They have a final draft of an essay to hand in, and despite my numerous reminders and warnings about excuses, my podium is rushed like I'm a vampire heartthrob by teens with a dozen stories about why they don't have their assignment. I wave them away. I've been teaching too long to listen to the same stories students have been offering since the start of civilization. Well, maybe Roman students didn't claim that their printer broke, but I'm sure their excuses were as lame and hackneyed.
I hand back a test and we go over it as a class. We're reading "Of Mice and Men", so I read aloud to them and ask questions. They seem to be enjoying it, if only for the cursing. I remind them that tomorrow is Silent Reading day. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, my five classes read a book of their choice for 15 minutes. I actually have them do it because I want to be able to read for 75 minutes, twice a week. I don't care if they like to do it or not. I'm tempted to make it a daily event, but it really does cut into class time.
Second period is my prep period. A friend and colleague emails me to ask if I can help her proctor the SATs on Saturday. I had planned to go spend the day at the Autry Museum of Western Heritage but I need the money. Besides, SAT testing is a nice block of time to get some grading done. And if I get enough grading done, I can put it aside and read the new Bill Bryson book which I just got and am enjoying very much. The museum can wait until another week, so I say yes.
Third and fourth period roll by. The juniors are reading "The Crucible". My mood sours a little as the day progresses, but I chalk it up to PMS.
At lunch, my classroom is a refuge for students trying to escape the rain. There's a nice chatter about the upcoming weekend, and Homecoming dance. A student comes to me to tell me that his stepfather has pancreatic cancer and that's why his grade is suffering. I have no reason to doubt him, so we talk about what can we do that will improve his grade without adding extra stress.Fifth and sixth period round out the day. I stay late to enter grades into the online gradebook. I think about just doing it at home, but I get so little schoolwork done at home. My attention span whittles down to nothing, and it's just easier to do as much as I can at school.
Drive home is much better than morning ride. I'm listening to "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" on my iPod. I really haven't been enjoying it until the last few days, where the story has picked up and it's finally interesting. I think about how thankless my job is, but then I realize that I've never heard of a job where workers get sincere thanks. Maybe that's just not something we humans should expect from our careers. Maybe the paycheck is enough.
Get home, and dogs are ecstatic to see me again. Clearly they had convinced themselves that I was never to return and they were abandoned forever. The frenzied greeting of my dogs never fails to make me smile.
I putz around on the computer, while eating hummus and crackers. The rainclouds clear out so I walk the dogs along the bike path behind my house. There are eucalyptus trees along the edge, and the smell of their wet leaves is heavenly. After we get back, I feed the dogs, pour a glass of wine, and rummage around the fridge for dinner. I've got a bunch of leftovers on the verge of going bad, so I saute some asparagus, heat up the rest of a casserole, and wash and destem a basket of strawberries. I watch the Simpsons and Scrubs and read friends' blogs.
It's now 7 p.m. Not an account of a full day, but the plan is to watch reruns of Seinfeld, then Ghost Hunters. I'll take a shower, pack a lunch, get the coffeemaker ready, and pick out something to wear. I want to get to bed early, because I'm really tired and I have the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in. I anticipate a delightful sleep.
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