On Wasting Time At School And Other Business

I'm sitting in my classroom, and it's 5:07. I'm waiting patiently for Rachel to finish marking up some exams, whilst freezing my ass off. I'm not entirely sure why, but it seems as if the temperature in my room is constantly evading my comfort zone. It's either ridiculously hot and stuffy in here, or else bone chillingly cold. There is no happy medium, rather just a constant fluctuation that annoys me (and my students) to no end. Tonight it seems worse than usual though. My finger tips are actually a touch purple, which is never a good sign. That is why I decided to try updating the blog. A steady stream of blood to my fingers, spurned on by the insane pace at which I type, should help induce some warmth. My toes, however, are a lost cause.

In fact, it was just the other day that I realize that my feet are being left literally in the cold these days. It appears that with all my planning and packing, I've failed to sufficiently provide for my feet. The shoes I brought over were summer shoes, no doubt about it. Cute flats, a crummy pair of slip on trainers (that my mates affectionately call the ugliest shoes in the world, bless), and my tried-and-true red patent leather peep toes. Not the type of shoes that would see you through winter, in any country. No, I clearly was not thinking in terms of the distant future; winter.

I was watching Jason play football on Saturday, when I was struck with the complexity of my situation. It was minus SOMETHING for sure, and sitting on a bench watching the game was hell on earth (if hell happens to be an extremely cold place instead of extremely hot. It's a place of extremes, and that's all that matters). For all my bragging about being a 'tough and hearty' Canadian girl, it didn't take me long to admit that I was freezing my ass, and in this case toes, off. the flimsy little brown flats that I was wearing were doing nothing by way of protecting my toes from the elements. I tried in vain to position myself so that my feet were covered by some part of my body. I tried folding my legs up and sitting on them, but this was only comfortable for about five minutes before the bones in my heels started to dig into me. I tried to sit cross-legged on the bench, only to realize that sitting in this position is only feasible for children. Apparently I can't stretch well that way any more. It felt like I was going to pull my groin out, not to mention the fact that my tailbone was effectively placed in the most uncomfortable position ever; directly on the hard wooden slab that was my seat. I didn't last long sitting that way, that's for sure. I even took off my scarf, and wrapped it around my feet, in what surely must have made me look mildly retarded. Again, this did not provide me with the comfort I sought.

Instead, I took to bouncing my feet up and down off the pavement, in an attempt to get the warmth of my blood flowing to them. This tactic worked somewhat, but it still did not keep my feet from feeling detached from my body at the end of two and a half hours.

The entire time I was jiggling my feet, the thought of my lusciously padded Emu's was swimming through my head. I recalled a time last year, in Thunder Bay, when my previous winter boots and succumbed to the harsh realities of a true Canadian winter. The zipper had split down the side, as I tried to cram my increasingly warmth-protected feet and lower calf into them. Turns out those boots could only accept my bare leg, and not the jean and long-john clad one I tried to stuff into them. Shame, really, as they were a rather cute pair of boots.

The Emu's had been purchased after hours of deliberation in the Mall in Thunder Bay. Faced with -50 degree temperatures, I simply could not brave the elements without the best in foot protection. I looked at a few pair of Uggs, and nearly bought some, but the Emu's offered me something the Uggs could not; a stylish lace up look. The laces, I reckoned, would allow me to wear as many layers on my bottom half as was necessary. No bursting zippers here! I remember sinking my feet into the thick sheep's wool lining of the boots, and feeling an instant surge of heat. They were the toastiest thing I'd ever experienced. They were Divine. I laced up both pairs, and sauntered around the store, getting a real feel for the boots. My feet, even in my socks, felt as if they were snuggled deep within the bouncy, springy, soft confines of a sheep's back. I cooed at the way they looked on me in the mirror, and instantly was sold.

The true test was wearing them out of the store. Would they withstand the cold temperatures? Turns out they did, and then some. I was never with cold feet last winter. It was a delight.

It was these thoughts that were swimming through my head as I was shuffling my feet in vain. Why, oh why, hadn't I thought to bring my boots with me? My feet were screaming there discontent at me, as was my brain. Silly, silly girl. I suppose that's just my punishment though, for assuming that England wasn't nearly cold enough to warrant Emu's. All I know for certain is that they will be lodged solidly on my feet for the return flight. I want my first steps back in England in January to be in my snuggly warm Emu's.

But enough reminiscing....

Things are going relatively well at school. I feel like I am finally getting into the swing of things with my groups. They're finally, for the most part, starting to respect me. This means that they're actually taking what I say seriously, and participating more in lesson. It was a constant struggle last term, as you are likely well aware. Students are finally getting to know me, on a personal level as well, and I them. More and more of them are stopping in after classes to talk to me. This makes me feel well liked, as I rarely stayed after to talk to my own teachers, unless I a) liked them and b) felt comfortable with them. The only downside to this is that I think some of them like me a touch too much; not necessarily on a 'romantic' level (though some do, I'm told), but on a 'friend' level. I had always hoped to come across as a friendly, approachable teacher, but had hoped that I could draw the line at 'being a friend'. It has not,nor never will be, my intention to befriend the students. As a professional, it's impossible to be an effective teacher and their friend. You just lose too much authority in the process of becoming a friend. Some of my students, though, are increasinly telling me a tad too much. I won't get into it here, for privacy's sake, but some of them tell me things I don't really want to hear. These aren't things that are alarming on a safety level, but are more alarming on a 'shit, I don't want to know you're into that stuff at your age' level. Mind you, I was likely into at least SOME of the stuff they're on about when I was their age. Or perhaps not. I'm not sure, and frankly I would rather not go there.

I have, however, had more than one student come to me and tell me things about other teachers that is not very professional to hear. I make absolutly no comments back, either for or against what they say, but I still feel like it puts me in an awkward position. I don't really relish the idea of hearing students bitch and moan about my co-workers, and I certainly cannot comment on what the students are saying, as that would be 100% unprofessional of me. I also cannot, in good conscience, take their word over that of the people I work with. Rest assured, nothing they say is incriminating, but they do a great disservice to my co-workers on a personal level. It's a tad awkward to listen to, but in most cases I turn off my ears and then switch the topic of conversation. As much as I like to hear that I'm a well liked teacher, I don't like to hear it at the expense of my friends and collegues.

Well, I do believe that Rachel is ready to depart now, which means I must log off! I will try to update this a bit more frequently, but really it's all a matter of when time affords me the opportunity of leisure.

Until then, cheers!