Just One Day

I crawl out of bed to the screeching alarm clock at 6:10 a.m., which is really 6 a.m., I try to trick myself into getting ready faster. I shimmy into some old grey sweat pants, throw on a hoodie, (no one needs to see all that so early in the morning) and I stumble down the stairs as I wipe my sleepy eyes. Is this really necessary? My sweet little puppy has to be taken to the 4th corner of the earth to go potty, OK; maybe it's only the corner of the parking lot to the "Puppy Park". This is one of the many amenities my 'luxury' apartment provides, a special place for my little Frenchy to go potty.
I turn the shower on, down the vitamins for energy and appetite control. It makes me feel like I am doing 'something' for my health and well being. Shower seems to spur the senses to mid consciousness. Same old outfit, just a different color" old navy slacks, v-neck tee, and tennis shoes--comfort is the deciding factor, not fashion. Lawli slips into her kennel, watching her mommy cook breakfast, correction, the microwave heat up breakfast. Lean pocket, 2 minutes, weight watchers 6 points. Smart One out of the freezer, apple sauce, and a 100 calorie pack for lunch all into the back pack along with the workout clothes...ugh! ! !
The door clicks shut and it is back down the stains, back in the car with lean pocket in hand. "Is this it? Really?" I ask myself as I drive to school (work). Pulling into my spot for the day in the parking lot, I turn off my Acapella praise and worship music. Trying to prepare myself not to go psycho on a teenager. I head into the building , the building that smells like cheap, 100% bleach cleaner that always singes the nostrils. I laugh to myself thinking of my cousin Clayton.
Glade Hawaiian Breeze hits me, and its smells way better than stinky 12 & 13 year olds. But the peace and quiet and fresh smell will all vanish away when that bell rings at 7:25 and rings in a new school day.
dirty looks, lecturing. Students who have 6 teachers screaming, "Miss! Miss! Miss!" Because Miss Farrell or Coach seems to be too much for them to hold in their busy brains. But I, the teacher/coach, have over 120 students & athletes first names, last names, locker numbers, lunch numbers, test booklet numbers, where they sit in class, and their daily grade point averages in my brain, but "Miss Farrell" is way too much for the hormonal teenager to handle. Spitting out command after command. A discussion in the hall about poor behavioral choices and how there won't be a next time, because next time, somehow this teenage boy will actually stop and think before he shouts out something inappropriate next time....right.
Lunch with my co-teachers consists of discussing students, all of us eating diet food, but the diet food probably doesn't help when you eat 3 bags of the 100 calorie packs of Chips Ahoy cookies.
Lecture. Discuss. Grading. Entering grades. Answer the phone every 3 seconds. Parent emails. Grading.
The final bell rings to the end the day. There are 180 days of school. 180! ! !
Working out with the ladies after school is just more proof that 'Miss!' is completely out of shape and getting older. "Those vitamins better be working," runs through my head. "Ladies, you do realize I am not going to be able to sit down to go potty after today. I hope the same for the both of you as well!" Both Ruby and Hilary laugh, the two other teachers that have decided it is time to be motivated and get back into shape. I just wish my shape was no longer 'lumpy'.
Back home, I take the pup out once again and it is down and up the stairs, one stair at a time, legs are killing me from the work out. I am definitely not the 17 year old athlete I once was. Just a has been!
The fresh scent of Glade Relaxing Spa hits me only for a moment. Off with the tennis shoes. On with the TV, channel 30, back to back episodes of BONES. I like the show's leading lady, a strong, smart, beautiful woman...reminds me a bit of myself until I realize that I am a middle school teacher and that woman on TV is not a forensic anthropologist, but an actress.
"Really? This is it for me?'
This question is thrown around in my head several times a day...at least a "baker's dozen."
There are times when I was important or at least I thought I was important or at least special. A time in my life when I was wanted, not just by a 12 year old who doesn't want to do their own work, or an administrator that wants me to do something else on top of all the other stuff I have to do, or a disgruntled parent who wants to give me a piece of their mind. I mean really wanted, by friends who wanted to hang out with me, by guys who wanted to go out with me. But where did that all go? Is that what the college diploma really means? "Your life is over, you have a real job now?"
Oh wait! Teaching is not a "real" job according so some of my friends. "You get summers off. What do you really do all day? You work with kids, how hard can that be? You get off of work at 3." I squeeze my temples between my finger and thumb to try and numb the headache. To make the voices in my classroom, TV and people around me telling me I am done with go away.
This is it. But I think to myself, "Am I really the only 28 year old in the USA or state of TX that is single, a young professional, that during the stress of her job and becoming an official adult that has put on a small kindergartner in weight, that fixes dinner out of a frozen card board box. Am I really that rare? And if I am, I should be studied by a team of young scientist."