(no subject)
I really am starting to feel like the last kid picked in gym class. In one week I am supposed to be with a mentor teacher helping them set things up for the start of a new school year. However, I do not have a mentor yet. No one wants to teach me to teach. I think that my problem in most areas of my life is that I'm too honest. Not that I tell people the way that I see things all the time. I don't justify bitchiness as "honesty". It's a problem of not filtering properly. That was an issue last night. And it was an issue with my survey about my feelings on student teaching. I thought that the survey asked too many questions that no one could know the answers to before setting foot in the classroom. Do I prefer block schedules? You've got me. Do I prefer urban or suburban schools? Well there's only one urban school possibility and it's so far away that I knew that I couldn't handle the commute. What I did know about mentor teachers is that two of my friends had bad ones and they were miserable. Kelly, you had it on a much larger scale than Lindsy though. So most of my survey was about how much I wanted someone who was experienced with student teachers. What I should've done (if I weren't so damn bad at bullshitting like that) was write a ten page report on my vast and undying love for history. If I had gone a little more over the top about my feelings for history I would have a mentor now. I wouldn't be the last or second to last SMACer to be assigned. I feel like Bradley on Project Runway. A squid without an ocean. A student teacher without a class.
The truth is that I would be unbelievably excited about starting if I had a place to go. I wasn't that into high school when I was there (I am definitely not teaching because I want to relive the best years of my life or anything) but I do love the beginning of the year excitement. I bought the two pairs of school shoes that I had determined that I needed. But I have not acquired any teacher clothes. It would feel much more justifiable if I felt that I was actually going to be in a school soon. Anyway, I cannot decide whether to buy nice pants and skirts that will hold up well or cheaper ones that are not half as nice. Especially when the cheaper ones are more expensive than any other pants that I've bought recently. My undergrad wardrobe is replete with fifteen dollar jeans and ten dollar tops.
I guess that there's no moral to this story. Perhaps Aesop would say that faux excitement about history is the way to go with student teaching surveys. And now that I wrote about how high school was definitely not the best years of my life I'm wondering what will be. College could be pretty fabulous but there was the paper for Carol Karlsen that made me feel like dying and the fact that a lot of those good times were predicated on the belief that someone loved me who did not. Or did for a while. Okay, maybe that's too bitter for me even on stomach hangover day.
The truth is that I would be unbelievably excited about starting if I had a place to go. I wasn't that into high school when I was there (I am definitely not teaching because I want to relive the best years of my life or anything) but I do love the beginning of the year excitement. I bought the two pairs of school shoes that I had determined that I needed. But I have not acquired any teacher clothes. It would feel much more justifiable if I felt that I was actually going to be in a school soon. Anyway, I cannot decide whether to buy nice pants and skirts that will hold up well or cheaper ones that are not half as nice. Especially when the cheaper ones are more expensive than any other pants that I've bought recently. My undergrad wardrobe is replete with fifteen dollar jeans and ten dollar tops.
I guess that there's no moral to this story. Perhaps Aesop would say that faux excitement about history is the way to go with student teaching surveys. And now that I wrote about how high school was definitely not the best years of my life I'm wondering what will be. College could be pretty fabulous but there was the paper for Carol Karlsen that made me feel like dying and the fact that a lot of those good times were predicated on the belief that someone loved me who did not. Or did for a while. Okay, maybe that's too bitter for me even on stomach hangover day.