medicating busy-ness

Four times a year I have to go through this.

It is the final Saturday of the school holidays. The countdown is over by this stage. The ten, nine, eight, seven, six of it. By this stage I am trying to tell myself it is just a regular weekend, as if that will psych me into "teacher-mode" again after my deliciously lazy fortnight of real life.

Sheer dread, I tell you.

It's the adjustment that's difficult. The shock. The sudden need for that mean face.

After two weeks, I'm always feeling pretty out of character. The blackboard-shoulders are a looking a little withered. The vocal chords are a bit mushy. I've certainly never any idea how I will force myself out of bed at 6:30 am the following Monday.

But then I think about the reality of it.

And I realise there is something nice about the cheerful chaos of teaching. The listmaking, photocopying, emailing, planning, assessing. The pushing your way through mobs of fifteen-year-olds in smelly corridors, chasing after DVD players, tending to cricket injuries.

The busy-ness I am about to face again?

It can be medicating.