Part of the greatest challenges of this whole thing has been coming to terms with my own inadequacies. It's hard to fail on a regular basis. It constantly instills self doubt, and plays games with your confidence. And as much as teaching is not a competition, part of my own craziness and part of the personalities TFA recruits makes it so. Everyone is critical of themselves (and perhaps silently you). Nothing is ever good enough. It's a fascinating study of self-flagellation. It's frustrating to see someone accomplish something with ease when you can't even begin to approach it with any level of competency. You're constantly measuring yourself against others, and their skills and your lack thereof. Jealousy has a strange way of creeping into every part of you and rearranging the rest of your emotions as it sees fit. I realize that this experience is not about comparing myself to others but rather improving for myself, and my future students. It doesn't matter if the other history teacher's lesson went better than mine did. It just matters that mine went better than it did the day before and that students are actually learning. Ahh learning, that's for another post.

I'm sitting in my apartment in Brooklyn, enjoying the stolen time that I have here each weekend. This is the last Sunday I'll have to pack up my bag and get on the L to the G to the E to the Q46 to the ten minute walk back to campus. I have no desire to go back. No desire to get up tomorrow at 5:30 and teach World War I. No desire to work on my lesson plans and make worksheets. Thank god there is only 4 days left of teaching and a half day of bullshit. I'm at my breaking point and so sick of the routine and of institute that I can hardly stand it. I want to wake up in Brooklyn, in my own bed, and eat the food that I make myself and talk to people that I actually have something in common with. I'm tired of only seeing my friends two days a week and then having to walk out the door on Sunday while they sit on our couch and wave goodbye. Although looking back, it's hard to believe that this time has passed, and that I'm almost done, I'm stretched as far as I can go. I'm ready for the end.

Fellow history teachers at my school. I like them, which is good.

Dear TFA,

I get it. You win. You push people and push people and send them into the fire and then they break and then you feel good about yourself.
I get it.

The girl who teaches American History in the class next to me quit on Thursday. One of four at my school. We have seven more days of teaching left. I thought if someone made it this far it would be like the home stretch. But it's as hard as it's ever been. Harder, perhaps, because we're told we should be improving, we should be making gains, we should have some things figured out by now. And some people do. And that makes it harder. Harder still, is the faster that institute ends means the closer the beginning of my real teaching begins. The real responsibility, the real job. I think the thought of doing this much work for two years is scaring people out of it.

I'm also having issues with some of the practices I'm constantly being told to work on. Hand raising is one of these procedures. That, and the being too firm thing which I mentioned. I'm too relaxed in class, I speak in a voice that's too natural and generally walk around asking their opinion. Which apparently doesn't "invest" the students enough in the work, they don't take it seriously enough. I also like to have discussions with them. When we do that, and I ask them questions/opinions, etc. sometimes the form get a little relaxed and people just begin talking. I don't like stifling the conversation so I let the hand raising go. I do understand why this can be a problem. Loud kids dominate the conversation, quiet kids get looked over. I can't get everyone' opinion. They're not really advanced enough to have the type of open discussion. It's just hard for me stop doing something I enjoy.

On a positive note (someone commented this blog can be all negative) the kids really do impress me. We talked about humanism today, and I was so excited they got the idea. Actually imparting knowledge on someone is a strange feeling. Watching them think through things and "get" something is the best feeling. These kids actually listen to me. They take notes and answer questions. They consider me their teacher. It's that responsibility that makes me dread/love going to school every morning. It's what makes this so hard.

A conversation I had/observed while teaching Christianity/Judaism and looking at the 10 commandments:

Student One: "What does this mean? Covet?"
Me: "Okay, I'll give you some synonyms. For example: I like your shoes, I want your shoes for myself. I covet your shoes."
S: "Oh, like you're jealous. Well, why shouldn't I covet my neighbor's wife? If I want to bag my neighbor's wife, I'm gonna bag my neighbor's wife."
Student Two: "No stupid. That's a sin. You can't do that. It's like one of those seven deadly ones, like lying, and umm, being overweight."

I'm assuming she was referring to gluttony. Maybe I should have asked her to clarify.

Alright. It's been awhile. I admit that. I don't know if anyone is still checking it. Maciej probably still is. Honestly, I could've written some dark posts since my last one. I have had some bad days. I believe I told someone that this is "an exercise in misery." But when I'm feeling especially low, it's either because I have so much to do that I can barely pause to shower, let alone try to convey how overwhelmed/incompetent/challenged I feel. I have considered quitting everyday. I considered it this morning. Then I pull it together and make it through the day. Then I wake up and curse myself for choosing this path and it begins all over again.

I have said to a few people that this is the hardest thing I've ever done. I still believe that. It's challenging me physically, emotionally, and mentally. Part of the difficulty is the up and down emotions. I can feel like I'm never coming back one hour and the next hour something happens where I'm enjoying myself. It's exhausting. That, and getting up at 5:30 a.m.

It's also amazing how absolutely small a group of apathetic 10th and 11th graders can make you feel. I'm on stage everyday. I'm trying to teach and engage and entertain. I'm constantly trying to figure out how to make all three work together. My adviser tells me that I have to work on being firm. I'm not FIRM enough with them. I don't exhibit enough authority, I don't command, I ask. I'm not loud enough. That is the last problem I thought I'd have. Partly, I don't think it's necessary to be very firm if they're doing what they're supposed to. And partly, I'm in severe denial that someone thinks I'm competent enough to have my own class, to teach history, to grade essays, and to be called Ms. Brennan.

I'm currently trying to write my lesson plans. And it's a lot harder than I thought it would be. I was starting to have a very clear vision of myself in the classroom, working with students and directing a class. However, I never actually thought about what would be going on during all of this. It was sort of like a silent film in my head. And then I realized how much I have to plan. And now I'm not even teaching historical content. I'm teaching the students how to write a thematic essay. I don't know how to teach that. I don't know how to keep them engaged or interested. I don't know how to fit it all into 45 minutes. I don't know what the easiest way to break down an essay is. Do I go into how to create an outline, or do I go right into thesis statements and conclusions? No one is telling me what to do. What these kids learn really will be my decision to make. That is terrifying. The summer school class we are teaching are students who failed the New York Regents Exam and they now have 16 days and two inexperienced "teachers" helping them to pass so they can graduate high school.

I took a nap today after sessions and I had a very vivid dream where I was standing on what was sort of like a waterfall, but man-made, with two levels. In one of the levels the water went under this cement tunnel thing. Someone was yelling that the water was too high because of the rain and then I slipped and fell in and was swept underwater beneath a cement enclosure that I couldn't get out of. It was a mixture of panic and then resolution that there was no way out. This is the second dream I've had where I've drowned. Ridiculous.

I feel like I got hit by a truck. Not because my head is hurting from the fall on Saturday, but because I'm so insanely tired and overwhelmed. Getting back from Brooklyn took longer than I expected so by the time I got to St. John's I had 20 minutes to register for institute (the real teacher training) get back to my room to drop off my things and change into "professional" dress and head to opening ceremonies. I had three bags and then they gave me three binders, two of which are humongous and weigh about 5 pounds each. I hobbled back to my room on the way passing my roommates on the way to dinner, who started chanting "Peanut." Charming. I managed to make it on time and I met my group, the people we'll be teaching with at our assigned schools. We heard some speeches and got back around 9 or so. I avoided my roommates and started looking over all the information they gave us. I got through the first packet with the logistics of the campus, and then opened the first big binder I need for tomorrow. It contains what we need for the first half of training. After browsing for less than a minute I closed it and put it in my bag. I can't begin to try to process this right now. I didn't even know what I was looking at. On the plus side, judging by what I saw, I should be fairly prepared to enter a classroom after all of this, if not terribly exhausted every day and working into all hours of the night. I also learned, when feeling depressed/overwhelmed, Prince is a much better option than El Perro del Mar. Go figure.