What a week. I am pooped. I am more pooped than Captain Poop of Poop-City in Poopopolis was when he won the Who's Pooped the Most Championship, 1987.
Monday I intended to leave work fairly sharpish i.e before 5 p.m because I wanted to get into town to buy Chris's birthday present and a Mother's Day gift for my Mum (don't bother getting me anything, love. Okay Mum, but you know I will anyway).
However, I ended up leaving just after 5 because there were umpteen million 'things to be done IMMEDIATELY' at work so I stayed to get them done because I couldn't bear the weight of guilt if I didn't.
Tuesday was staff training after school. Staff training is where you get to sit in a cold room after a busy day's teaching and listen to a number of people telling you where you are going wrong and how many hoops you need to jump through in order to teach properly. Except we're not allowed to teach any more - we have to 'facilitate learning.' I told my Year 11's of this new concept. They thought it was a hoot. Now, when I see them, they say, 'What aren't you going to teach us today, ma'am?' and then we all have a laugh. I said, 'For those who wish to see a dying art form, I shall be teaching poetry after school tomorrow in a revision session.'
Wednesday - I taught an after school poetry revision session. And then I stopped off at Sainsbugs on the way home to get the weekly shop I should have got the previous weekend. Still needed to get Chris's birthday present; inconsiderately, the town shops are closed by the time I pass through of an evening.
Thursday - another after school staff training session. More of the same - don't do it like that, do it like this. More jargon, more faff. More feeling de-skilled, de-constructed. All this serves to underline my growing conviction that although students learn successfully from my classroom ramblings, teaching is not where I'm meant to be. Managed to get Chris's birthday present on way home, but only because Thursdays are late night shopping days in town.
Friday - that'll be today. Staff INSET day. No children to teach. One hour of 'don't teach like this, learning facilitate like that,' followed by one hour of trying to get to grips with the complexities of an interactive whiteboard. Emerge feeling like a Luddite/ dinosaur/ my Mum (what would I want a computer for? I can manage life perfectly well without a computer. We couldn't afford technology in my day.) Followed by four hours of marking and moderating this year's GCSE coursework. Moderation is a subjective activity. You might just as well pick random numbers from a hat. And it's dire, too, especially when half the girls turf out creative writing a la Enid Blyton on hormone replacement therapy.
This week I planned to use my evenings for turning half a hundred weight of Jerusalem artichokes into soup, making a birthday cake for Chris's birthday on Sunday, reading some of the many books that are awaiting my attention, starting off a new compost bin, writing some more 'Indigo Antfarm, Violet and Blue', catching up with the housework and doing a bit of knitting for now overdue Grand-daughter.
I have done none of these things.
Teaching is getting in the way of my life.
Time for a career change.
And I have 'A PLAN'!!
And does the Plan include a tea room called much malarkey which sells cake and pudding and tea? I think it should but eager to hear your version??????!!!!!!!!!
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