Today I woke up early. I got dressed and made breakfast over the pre-dawn chants of my students’ synchronized steps
around the track. I prepared materials for class, and tried to write a lesson plan that
reflected what I wanted my students to learn.
As children lined up for breakfast, I filled my canister
with hot water, and brewed my favorite green oolong tea. I had such a feeling
of vigor; it seemed to me like capability, raw strength. I rushed to class, and
it didn’t go poorly.
I rushed to class again, but walked more slowly when I
realized the school meeting was running long. I set up in an empty classroom,
but still no one came, and when they did, it was as if I didn’t exist. I packed
up my things and talked with my favorite teacher, who said they were having a
long assembly about the big fire. Over the weekend, five students,
including a 3rd and a 6th grader,
were playing with fire when it got out of hand. In fact, at the time I was
visiting her house, and she made me go outside to look at the smoke.
We went to lunch and she asked me if her 盐菜 pickled vegetables, which I had eaten over
the weekend, were better than the school’s. I admitted that they absolutely
were. She continued to ask me, so that other teachers would hear my response. Each
time she laughed an evil laugh. I told her I was going
to teach her first class in the afternoon—she's sick, and I didn’t get a
chance to teach her students because of the assembly. She just laughed.
I went to my room and took up a book that I liked as a kid. I got distracted by a memory, a nice kind of longing though, the kind
that makes you want to close your eyes. I fell asleep.
She laughed again as she saw me walking to her class. I was
informed that they were taking pictures this period, and I could take her 3rd
period class. I was momentarily let down since I had planned to go on a long
run during that time. But I pushed the selfish thought from my mind, and went
back to reading in my room.
I taught two periods back to back. Afterwards, I ran a mile
and did some weights, interspersed by squats. I went
to dinner sweaty.
I ate the rest of my strawberries since I was
still hungry. They would have gone bad after much longer anyway. I showered. I hand-washed
my underwear in a basin while listening to music and singing to myself.
On a trip back from the bathroom, I stopped and watched the
setting sun. I marveled at the grandiose; everything looked petty and
unremarkable in comparison, even the canola flowers. I thought about how the
cirrus clouds looked as if the white crayon worked in nature.
Now I’m drinking chrysanthemum tea, writing, with music afloat.
I plan to read for a couple hours, and then go to sleep.
