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katiefooleryThe year has a strange way of passing. It starts off in the midst of summer heat, each day miserably following the other as we languish in the heat and bemoan the lack of air-conditioning.
Then work starts again. The less said about that the better.
Then, if you’re really lucky, your capital city will decide to host the Commonwealth Games and force the education department into running a six week first term. This of course has the wonderful flow-on effect of rendering all subsequent terms much longer than normal. The twelve week one was my favourite. I was sort of groping about desperately towards the end of that, wondering what we’d done to deserve such punishment.
And - oh - public-holiday-free term three. Always a delight.
When term four arrives, fatalism sets in. The year nine students get worse. The year eight students start practising for their own turn as year nines. Everyone suddenly discovers things that need doing right now. Work builds up. New textbooks must be processed yesterday. Non-existent ones must be brought into existence for teachers who missed out.
Then, suddenly, it’s the last week and the students are all but gone. Bells no longer ring and I’m never quite sure when to break for lunch. I actually wake up with a smile on my face in the morning, because this is thelast week, third-last day, second-last day LAST DAY OF WORK FOR THE YEAR!
The sense of freedom when I walked out of work yesterday was almost palpable. No more work for five weeks! Internet whenever I want! FREEDOM!
And I know I probably say this every year, but I’m not going to waste these holidays. No, really I’m not.
But for now, I think it’s time to relax.
Then work starts again. The less said about that the better.
Then, if you’re really lucky, your capital city will decide to host the Commonwealth Games and force the education department into running a six week first term. This of course has the wonderful flow-on effect of rendering all subsequent terms much longer than normal. The twelve week one was my favourite. I was sort of groping about desperately towards the end of that, wondering what we’d done to deserve such punishment.
And - oh - public-holiday-free term three. Always a delight.
When term four arrives, fatalism sets in. The year nine students get worse. The year eight students start practising for their own turn as year nines. Everyone suddenly discovers things that need doing right now. Work builds up. New textbooks must be processed yesterday. Non-existent ones must be brought into existence for teachers who missed out.
Then, suddenly, it’s the last week and the students are all but gone. Bells no longer ring and I’m never quite sure when to break for lunch. I actually wake up with a smile on my face in the morning, because this is the
The sense of freedom when I walked out of work yesterday was almost palpable. No more work for five weeks! Internet whenever I want! FREEDOM!
And I know I probably say this every year, but I’m not going to waste these holidays. No, really I’m not.
But for now, I think it’s time to relax.