I Fail At Making Fists

It was early when I woke up this morning. Seems like a thousand mornings I have already experienced. Why this one again? I showered, cleaned off and read some scripture. I'm doing a dramatic interpretation of a scripture from Luke at church this Sunday. I hadn't read it until today, and it turns out it wasn't about what I thought. Oh well, hadn't thought much yet.

I wrestled with the idea of skipping swimming today. I had a colission with another swimmer in the pool last night (I've been drifting a bit to the left these days) and my finger is still sore. I can't make a fist. I think I like to imagine problems like this though... I'm going. If I fail at everything else in life (including making fists) I'll at least get some regular exercize.

The 4th graders were positively demon posessed today. Some days I think I am perfectly skilled to be a teacher. These days I wonder if that's true. I've given up on falling in love with my job. I'm waiting for love to find me. It's noon and I already have a headache. I hope against hope that lunch isn't something absolutely fucking weird. It's hardly a valid thing to expect. Some items on the menu at my school don't have an English translation because the western world doesn't consider them to be food. Today is another day, in my own little corner of the world where I don't belong, but I feel like I would run into a similar problem wherever else I could go.

The other three English teachers left on a trip to study other elementary schools' English rooms, in preparation for the new years' program. The office is now empty. I asked them if I should go with them, and they said that the Principal told them that only 3 people could go.

What?

On a diffferent, but related note, I think that the special ed students should not be allowed to wander. They're in my office right now, hitting each other with sticks and saying "Ow, it hurts," in Korean. I'm fighting every urge I have to use some of the Korean yelling techniques I've learned from my co-workers to expediate their exit. The secret of my language aquisition will remain for now, becouse one of my advanced English 6th graders came in and I got him to shoo them out. I've got an hour to kill now.

That's life these days. You kill time until the day that it finally comes back and kills you. It's supposed to pick up at some point. I hear some older people complain that they don't have the time to get done what they used to do in a day. I'm not like them. I have the time. What is it then, that I am missing?

Motivation?

Courage?

Discipline?

Integrity?

Freedom.