I look forward to next semester's Fridays, where I won't work for 9 hours and drive an additional two hours and then spend Saturday afternoons sleeping it away. Sometimes Sunday, like today, is the day of the sleeping-and-reading hangover. You know what that's like?
I'm all right. Amotivated but that's everyone right now. I'll miss teaching next semester and I hope that there's some sudden burst of students who need to be taught and that they'll pick me. I want to learn everything exciting and minute and breathtaking. I want something worth sweating over, something worth the miles under aching knees.
Maybe it's the YA novel-reading of sixteen-year-olds with their best friends for life, but today I miss our friendship more than normal. I know it's "people change" and "who cares" and imagined vendettas that really mean nothing. Still, though. I miss it.