As I reread that last post I can tell by the fragmented and incomplete nature of it that I am running on fumes, or at least I was this past week. It’s Sunday morning now and I feel fairly rested. Friday night I went straight to bed when I got home. I was up for a bit in the later evening to play a little PlayStation poker, but had to get my rest for a conference on Saturday. Ironically, the state-required conference (to maintain certification) was on how to handle stress: how not to burn out as a teacher.

I forgot to print out directions, so I had to get up early and drive to school to print out directions before I went to the conference in St. Charles. I was stressed out and almost late for the opening speaker; thus, compounding the irony. The conference itself was fine, if a little sophomoric: essentially telling teachers that ours is a noble profession, and that even though we don’t really have summers off because we have to take classes, and we don’t get out work at three because we bring home a stack of papers to grade every night, and all of the other up sides or our profession never existed or are disappearing, we should whistle a happy tune because teaching is still one of the most personally rewarding jobs that there are. They are right.