Today is my first official day of summer vacation. Am I happy?
Yes. Am I confused? Yes.
If doesn’t seem like the end of anything. School just sort of ended yesterday. It didn’t feel like the last day of
school. I didn’t get weepy or sad when
the seniors left two weeks ago, and I didn’t really feel anything yesterday
either. It just feels like the
weekend. I’m sure students all over the
city were out celebrating and burning all their “useless” paper from school (I
know my kids were…), but I just sat at home and watched Hell’s Kitchen.
I suppose my ambivalence is caused by too many years of
teaching. The whole shit-storm will all start over again
in no time. Nothing is really over.
But I would love to feel something.
I don’t.
One of these days, I’ll wake up and not know what day it is;
that’s the real measure of summer
break for students and teachers alike:
getting caught up in the squandering of time.
Last night, I dreamed that I wrote a novel this summer. It’s not unheard of to write an whole book in
two months. Maybe my track record of not
being able to write a good book, well, ever,
so far should deter me, but I’m going to bleed out on the keys of this computer
this summer. (Not in the whole DEATH
way, but in a more CATHARTIC, LITERARY way.)
Even if no one reads what I have to say, I’ll write it anyway.
Life is better spent trying than being angry at everything
and nothing. I’ll let the anger fuel the
words, and then perhaps the anger at all that I’ve left unsaid and undone with
dissipate into peacefulness.
It’s worth a try.
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