As is my modus operandi*, I have too many thoughts in my head and no intent of organizing them. And thus a list is born.
:: School fills me right up in the best possible way. Summer was lovely and, sure, I wish I could bottle some of my excessive summer free time and sprinkle it about the end of term, but- I am happier working. More alive.
:: I have inherited delightful students. And though I love them already, I can't wait until I really know them and they really know me. Let me employ subpar analogies to express my feelings. My students are like newborns (Huh? I don't know where I'm going with this either, but let's ride this out...). They are cute and I am fond of them, but say something funny already? Maybe throw some flour on the floor, too.
Ahem. Analogy number two: my students are like an awesome new sweater. It's the perfect color and fit and I've already envisioned a plethora of outfit possibilities, but I haven't actually experienced the awesome outfit-wearing. Once I do, I'll love it even more.
And now, let me say a personal hello to the two readers I have left post-horrendous analogies. You are troupers and I applaud your dedication.
Last year, as term four was wrapping up, my students were interrupting me in harmony. A group of them actually got together, assigned parts ["I'll be alto, you take soprano-"] and practiced singing comedic interruptions. Truthfully, I'm glad my students aren't already orchestrating such idiocy, because good heavens what would they work up to by the end of the year. I'm just glad they have idiotic potential, because I quite liked last year's idiots. [I say, "idiots," where most people would say, "worthy young men and women who are apt to do great things." So, read, "idiot," with an affectionate inflection, please].
:: One of my delightful students is a hashtag fanatic. We were speed-booking (akin to speed dating, but you're trying to figure out what type of book you'd like to, "take out again...") when I noticed all his sentences were followed by hashtag summaries. #we'regoingtogetalong
:: Off topic: the other day Conlin and I were heading over to his parents'. Conlin left a moment before me. When I exited, I spotted something with my periphery. I turned, only to see Conlin crouching behind the door holding a large stick. When we locked eyes, he giggled and tossed the stick aside. He hasn't clarified what his stick-related intentions were since. Stab me? Slap me? Pretend he was pooping? Some mysteries remain unsolved, I guess.
And...that's a wrap.
*Modus operandi means mode of operation, or "M.O." Someday I will win a gameshow because I know this. And now you can win a gameshow, too. [Unless this is common knowledge, in which case I am way less cool than I realized and please forget you read this].
*You can enter the desks from either side! Glory, glory, hallelujah.