Good grief!

For my original New Year's Day Non-Resolution, I said that I was going to not resolve to do something: write in my blog every day. Well, blew that non-resolution! But if I didn't resolve in the first place, am I really blowing anything? I don't think I am, but oh the guilt! Guilt for a non-resolution...how pathetic.

The updated news is that I have accepted a regular education Language Arts position at my school. It took practically an Act of GOD to get out of special education, but it happened. I'm wondering if I made the right decision, but as long as I'm on the good side of the department chair and the principal, and I can hide myself and my students in my own classroom, I can hide from the other English teachers who Know Everything There Is To Know About English--Much More Than The Rest Of Us. I plan on telling them at some point that I taught kids IN special education, and I am not special ed. myself. There seems to be some misconception that I am not as bright as the regular teacher due to that fact.

I need to practice my response to the following: "How are you?"
It is not: "Good, thanks!" (A normal person's response).
It is: "Well; thank you for asking." (The English Teacher's response)


BTW, I'm taking a writing class on Wednesday evenings--something I'm finding difficult since it's lecture. LECTURE, for pete's sake. I do have my assignments that I sometimes complete. I've paid for the course and it's a non-credit course, so what are they going to do to me? Give me a non-F? Anyway, one of the exercises that I decided to complete was to describe a fearful scene. Here it is:

Angela's eyes widened when she turned the corner. Her first instinct was to run, but legs of lead would not let her move, let alone run. Not since this happened five years ago had she felt her heart thrash as it did, as if someone were using it for a punching bag. Angela's eyes darted to the hallway, then to the door just three feet down the hall, hoping to see a light peeking beneath the one-inch space between carpet and wood.

No one will be able to save me this time, she thought.

Angela stepped back, the muscles in her thighs burning from holding tight and to keep herself from toppling over. Beads of perspiration bubbled on her upper lip and she blinked away a strand of hair that had fallen over her right eye.

That's it. The instructor doesn't want a lot to read.

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