Smells Like Teen Spit

I am back in the classroom!

It's temporary, natch. I needed the extra fundage, after the accident. I got a call from my old department chair with the news that one of my former colleagues will be out for a few weeks post-rotater cuff surgery, and would I mind filling in for him while he is sidelined on the proverbial pedagogical bench? I said, "Sure thing," and that was over a week ago now.

It's like riding a bicycle. One naturally falls back into teaching, timing bathroom breaks to fall conveniently into the prep period and lunch, and busting out the old "teacher's stare." I messed up the first few days, and my need for coffee resulted in a mad dash to the little teachers' room in the six minutes allotted between classes. Which is not as easy as it sounds. This is a high school after all, and those seniors are all seven feet tall and four feet wide. You take your life into your own hands when you venture out during a passing period.

All is well. Old colleagues poke their heads through the classroom door to catch up on family news and gossip. Former students turn up out of the woodwork to and share all of their life's ambitions and drudgery. Freshmen are still squirmy and immature. Seniors still think they should not have to do anything the entire spring semester.

Still, I will be happy when I do not have to be up, dressed, in full make-up and properly caffeinated before sunrise.
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