It’s amazing that a foot of snow and some sub-zero temperatures can send me spiraling into a strange alternate universe. In this alternate universe, my sixteen day holiday break has turned into eighteen days, St. Louis has turned into a block of compacted ice and snow, and my brain (and probably the brains of my kids) has turned to mush. Except for three shoveling adventures and a short, but exhilarating, trip to pick up a pizza, I’ve been gazing at the world from a living room window in between exasperated battles with my will power to accomplish measurable tasks.
My boyfriend commented earlier today that I probably had months of lesson plans done by this point. I have three weeks done, but that’s probably far short of my motivated potential. The arctic wind chills may have actually frozen the dendrites in my brain so that they’re incapable of communication.
Well fortified with pizza and beer, I have found myself back in front of the gently glowing screen of laptop. The keys click satisfyingly when I type, there is just the right amount of background noise enveloping me, I am wrapped in a cardigan and a blanket, I should be perfectly positioned to crank out plans from now until the MAP test. But… maybe I need a snack! …Perhaps a new song on the radio would help! …Maybe if I put the blanket around my neck like a cape! …Would I feel like a superhero then? …
The inner monologue goes on and on.
Theoretically, the snow on the streets and the snow in my brain will melt in a few days, and I will find myself re-immersed in the always fully connected world of sixth graders.
Until then, I’ll keep staring at the gently blinking MS Word cursor. Eventually, inspiration will strike, I will type, the cursor will march proudly across the screen and fill the tiny boxes of my school’s lesson plan template. Eventually, school will start again (although good gracious, it’s supposed to snow again Wednesday night into Thursday morning – this may turn into a very short week of teaching and learning). Eventually, it will be back to the perpetual rush and gush of Year 3 In The Land of the Small People.
You know, theoretically.