My Cardboard Balcony

Wow. That was one Hell of a way to end the week. And I mean that entirely negatively. I thought things were looking up: Guess not. Apart from the fire up north reducing air quality, and apart from a nasty cold I got, I then had to deal with what could honestly be considered a sad excuse for a "classroom coup." I don't think I've been challenged so much as a teacher in my entire life. Or even as a person in my entire life. I don't think I've been so questioned, or seen my words twisted so badly or taken so out of context. I say I didn't promise a student an editing job? Well, "four people" heard me promise it (even though in truth, I was just encouraging a student to work toward becoming an editor, as I'd do for anyone interested). I mention I'm tired of students mouthing off and talking back to me? I'm told that students felt "provoked" (which I guess is synonymous now with "sensitive"). Look, I don't lik

A Different Strategy by Belinda Roddie If they disrespect me, they can finish the book themselves.

Frankie stayed at my bedside the entire time I was ill, holding my clammy hand and singing to me as I faded in and out of consciousness. I had strange dreams, mostly consisting of abstract shapes and bubbles that carried me to a shoddily drawn house on a crayon landscape. It was as if my mind had been melted like wax, and the last memories I had were of things I had created as a small child in art class.