It was not a good day.
Already feeling behind when I walked into my classroom makes for a bad start. Unprepared students with a host of excuses piled frustration higher. A terribly planned, waste-of-time convocation took away part of my instructional time and added to my irritation. Then an end-of-the-day email notifying me that testing would eat into yet another class period (despite my best efforts to avoid that) brought me to my growling point.
By the end of the school day, it looked like a tree exploded on my desk, leaving the debris of a hundred sheets of paper scattered everywhere. Resources for upcoming lessons. Parent-teacher conference forms. Seating charts. To-do lists. Rubrics. I made myself stay after school until my workspace was at least tidy.
I brought grading home, but I was too aggravated to work on it. Lessons weren’t fully planned for the next day, but I couldn’t muster the brain power to think about it. Even figuring out what to make for dinner taxed my intellectual resources and left me defrosting meat int he microwave while I stared blankly at the cookbook, silently begging Betty Crocker for inspiration.
I snapped at my husband, without meaning to or even realizing I’d done it. So he got frustrated with me.
At least he took over dinner preparation.
I kicked off my shoes, flopped onto the couch, lamented the filthy state of my house, and sighed.
The day was not a good one.
I am embarrassed by the state of my home. A thorough cleaning occurred here sometime in the last year, I think, but I can’t be more specific. Dog fuzz collects in the corners and dust blankets the furniture. I hate it. But I have no energy.
Then, into the living room came my Darlin’, bearing pecan-encrusted pollack and sauteed vegetables, with a banana-peach smoothie.
The love of a good man and a full belly improved my outlook.
Still, it was not a good day, and I could only hope the next day would be better.