Grrr...blargh.

Worst day.

High point? Indoor recess, so I played my recess CD (left over from my old school, where the gym teacher used to teach them the electric slide and other faboo group dances as part of a dance unit (then, they could dance together at assemblies...and everyone knew them, which was pretty awesome. Did you know there's a dance to "Cottoneyed Joe"? I know 500 kids in central CT who could teach it to you...)). This CD is pretty rockin'. It features such hits as: The Macarena, The Twist, The Hokey Pokey, The Electric Slide, YMCA, and The Chicken Dance. Anyway...if you've seen that "Being back with people who understand you: priceless" commercial, you know what recess was like: awesome. What is it about disco, though? Why will it never die?

Neither will air guitar, though, which kind of makes me feel better.

Low point? Being called a loser by a seven year old. Yeah, though...I am. And I'm mean (Am not!), and I never listen (Do too!), and I always tell him what to do (Hello? Job description?). There were assorted other low points, but that one definitely wins.

thinking about thinking

I tried to teach my fifth graders about metacognition sometime during my first year teaching. Slow was I to recognize the difference between teaching them about it and fostering their ability to do it. [Hmmm...Yoda-like I feel today (and it's not 'cause of the wisdom).]

So, here I sits today, thinking about thinking...thinking, that is, about my distractability and incoherence lately: who is that? what's going on? why are you here? what does the letter 'y' look like...good question!

I am astonished by the difficulty that I'm having getting into a new groove, and by the randomness of the synapses that my brain seems to be firing off as some kind of emergency response: will remembering my high school locker combination help? How 'bout a sudden desire to learn how to write screenplays? Then there's the little synapse in the back, jumping up and down, screaming "Pick me! Pick me!" and frantically waving its hands until I finally call on it only to hear, "I forget what I wanted to say." Or worse, "I have to go to the bathroom...and can I get a drink?"

And I want a fuzzy blue sweater...reflecting a deep inner desire to be a muppet, I think.

And a fence for the backyard, so I don't go crazy about the dogs.

And a garage.

Okay, never mind this particular post. That's enough of that.