School has begun, and I'm exhausted. Getting up at 6 really stinks when you're not used to it. It'll stink worse when the time changes.
The school year is going well. New campus. New classroom. New Students. New Smart Board. Which means I'm feeling new, fresh out of the box.
I dig teaching sixth grade. Feels like home. Maybe because my reading level never surpassed age 12. Either way, I'll be here for a while, in middle school, catching germs from front row sneezes and used tissues left on the floor.
I need to borrow rubber gloves from the cafe people.
I'll be around, catching colds and enlightening minds, all while trying to teach myself how to write. You'd figure after two novels, several poems and short stories, I'd figure this thing out by now.
The good news: characters keep speaking (dialogue), things are happening (plot), and words keep flowing.