Flame Out
At this time last year, I was something of a live wire - frayed at the edges and liable to shock at the slightest touch. Actually, in fairness to my voltage, I was something more akin to the third rail, frying those unlucky enough to fall into my current. In sharp contrast to lab rats, who at least learn their lesson after a few unpleasant zaps, my students in Ramallah never quite figured this out.
Largely in response to that surprising ugliness in myself, I've gone out of my way to keep a lid on it, to short out some of those circuits. All of which is not to say that I the rage is gone. No, the fires still burn inside, but I smolder more now than before - a slower, steadier burn which is generally under control though never quite extinguished. It consumes just as much of me as the juice did last year but only in a more measured way.
Except, of course, for the occasional flare - the perfect storm of defenses worn thin and students stoking the fires with their ongoing antics. There is enough fuel inside of me for a small burst of unapologetic anger, as the 9th Grade learned today. It was all of two lines, though delivered with particular force and a noticeable uptick in volume. And then, not unlike flash paper, it was over. Quick, yes, but unmistakable. And, with hindsight, even lamentable.
With any luck it singed the students just enough to be unforgettable, too.