Aritzona

I learned yesterday when I was being visited by my wonderful friends (Hannah, Jeff, and Sara) and we were Wikipedia-ing silly things, that Arizona comes from the Basque words Aritz ona, which means "good oak" This seems silly, but that was one of the first moments that I felt a sense of belonging in this strange, desolate land. I showed my friends around this place where I am living and it wasn't bad. It was actually sort of great.

Hannah and Jeff were like a fresh breeze blowing into my sandy desert life. I felt at peace for the first time in a long, long time. We lounged outside by my pool (because you can still do that in November in Arizona) and it was one of the longest stretches of time where I stopped thinking about being a teacher. I wasn't thinking about lesson plans or whether or not my students can read or why two of my fourth graders keeps hitting people or how the hell I am going to get my kids to understand Shakespeare. I was just sitting by the pool with friends from home. And it was good. It was beautiful.

But now today is even harder than the usual Sunday (which I have decided is usually the day in which all of my hopes and dreams go to die). Today the lesson plans and the master's class work and 7th graders' inability to read and Drama Club and grading the mountain of tests is weighing down on me heavier than ever. Because I don't want to do it. I want to be in the car with Hannah, Jeff, and Alissa to go look at picturesque landscapes and make homemade bread. I don't want this responsibility anymore. It is just too damn heavy for me to carry. I am so exhausted. Six months of teaching straight without a break. No breath. No reprieve. And I know I am close to the end of the semester, but I am so tired. So endlessly tired. And I'm not sure that my kids have learned a thing. So tired and nothing to show for it.

But that is a dark picture. Sundays are dark days for me. There is more hope that exists. It's Phoenix. It's the mythical bird rising from the ashes. It's Marlin going from writing sentences like "can has it go the bad" to writing a full 5-paragraph essay and Bailey falling in love with Shakespeare. It's good. I just forget about those things on Sundays. Sundays are days when I can only perceive the insurmountably and all the things I should have done on Saturday.

I apologize for the grimness of this as a first blog post. I suppose whining is a common theme in blogs. I vow to not write on Sunday next time and I'm sure it will be better.