This blog is linked to my author web site. It's an outlet, an update, a place for a writer to rant and perhaps take solace in the fact that there are other writers out there experiencing the same joy, malaise, exhaustion, etc.
Governer Dannel Malloy has recently come under fire for comments he made regarding teacher tenure. In essence, the governor stated that under the current tenure law all teachers need to do is "show up" for the first four years of their teaching career.
Wait...I just had to show up?
I'm actually quite upset this was never pointed out to me when I started this teaching gig nineteen years ago.
No BEST portfolio? No three formal observations a year? No mentoring/mentee situation? No extra meetings? No juggling planning, grading, correcting? No grad classes?
Teachers shouldn't be angry about what Governor Malloy said, they should be angry that previous governors didn't tell us we just needed to show up!
This is a breath of fresh air!
I feel as though all of the pressures of this teaching gig have slipped off my desk. CAPT starts next week...so what! PSAT prep...phewie! NWEA progress reports....hahaha! Data team....schmata team! Professional goals, LTF training...please! Core Values, Anti-bullying training, suicide prevention workshop, blood borne pathogens....out the window! Budget, planning, scheduling, curriculum revision, grading, sorting, shredding, stressing, inspiring, bettering, bleeding from the eyes....teaching no more!
Yes, Connecticut educators, our governor should not be reviled. He should be celebrated!
Now, by my calculations, the State of Connecticut owes me four years of "just showing up" starting...now (insert sound of stop watch clicking).
You know things aren't going well when your garbage company picks up everyone else's garbage in the neighborhood but yours (even the container directly resting alongside yours,the one less than two feet away was emptied, yeah, I kid you not). Same color container, same company.
Something stinks here and I'm not just talking about at the end of the driveway.
Oh... and then the town officials suddenly decided to take away my one claim to fame, the misspelled road sign:
F-R-A-N-L-K-I-N...is now F-R-A-N-K-L-I-N.
(strike that, reverse it)
Oh the horror, the horror.
No warning to prepare, no letter of apology in the mailbox. No, "I'm sorry for the mistake and thank you for pointing that out in your blog and sending us 100 letters reminding us to fix it." Nope, none of that. Just some midnight run with Mag-lights. The hum of rechargeable drills biting through the frigid air. Zip. Zip. "Shhhh, it never happened."
Now I have to correct the incorrection after redoing the correction. New business cards for all! Have to call the credit card companies, utilities...
"Yes, I know I just changed it from F-R-A-N-K-L-I-N to F-R-A-N-L-K-I-N but I had no warning, really. You want the outrageously high cable bill to reach me, right?"
Wait a minute, hold on now (insert epiphany here) Maybe this is why I haven't heard from the editor. Yes! That's it. It's the road sign! The mail is not reaching the correct destination. It's being returned. That's why I haven't heard anything for six months! The damn road sign!
But I digress... I haven't written a blog post for months and all because I've been trying to put my mind at ease over two questions that have haunted me since back in December when I traipsed through the mall Ch****mas shopping (If you are wondering why I wrote Ch****mas instead of the complete word, see previous blog post).
I have questions, perhaps someone out there can provide the answers? Place my mind at ease? Help me get back on track and break through this writer's block?
#1) Please explain the existence of the following merchandise displayed for purchase:
There must be a reason, I'm sure. Someone tell me....
#2) And what about these?
KISS Pandas? Please explain.
Until I find the answers to the questions that plague me, until my road sign returns to F-R-A-N-L-K-I-N, I fear all is lost. I may never write again. I may just pine away in the corner of the garage, rocking gently in the fetal position. Wasting away, melting, melting... At least until Boardwalk Empire starts up next season.