When I was a kid, I loved the last day of school. It was all about freedom and those long summer days of doing everything and nothing all at the same time. The summer seemed to go on and on forever.
Oooops.
The last day is remarkably leisurely. This is unusual because I'm used to moving rooms or, even grander, moving buildings. For the first time in the history of my employment in the district, which is nearly two decades, I don't have to pack any boxes. None. Not a single box. Not even my personal library books for the kids to borrow, the entirety of which makes it to two shelves in the classroom closet. I sit down to draw a map of my room so the cleaners who wax the floor will know how to put it back correctly I am so relaxed that I take a fifteen minute break to color in my room map.
On the way out the door, I say so-long to my buddies, then add, "See you in eleven weeks." This depresses them. Wait until they figure out it's more like nine weeks; they're really going to be pissed.
When I get home, though ... It's The Wall I mentioned in a recent post. The minute I sit down (my own mistake), I cannot seem to get up again. It takes me twenty minutes to motivate my body to move enough to pull down the bed so I can eventually climb into it.
I don't know much, but I do know this: Anyone who wakes me before nine tomorrow morning had better run a lot faster than I do.
