I’m sure you’ve each heard the phrase ring from the mouths of those closest to you - somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Being who I am - a grouch from the moment the obnoxious trills of my Apple alarm echo at 4:15 a.m. to the sensation of caffeine coursing through my bloodstream - I’ve had that exact idiom directed at me many a time. However, a few Tuesdays ago, that simple phrase became a reality I didn’t expect, but oddly enough, I’m glad it disrupted my week of teaching, to say the least. (I think? Still to be determined …)

When I crawled off the air mattress in my unfinished house (renovations on our home are happening, slowly but surely, seeing as two inexperienced Millennials/Gen Z’ers are attempting to complete the work ourselves with oodles of help from more experienced friends and family) I knew something was off. Extreme. Pain. Ensued. But, I thought I’d tough out the stomach pain because I was certain it would pass.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I never knew what true pain was until I had to attempt to actively teach 3 class periods with excruciating abdominal pain … and I’ve bruised my tailbone severely twice by falling down the steps. I could barely stand, I was dizzy, and my usually keen rapport and recall was dwindling fast. By fourth period, I had to leave the building, and what followed was quite the rollercoaster.

I wallowed in self-pity and pain for almost all of Tuesday, and by Wednesday morning, I was in the ER. After lots of blood work and a CT scan, it turned out I had appendicitis with an almost burst appendix. Thank goodness it didn’t burst before I was taken back into surgery. I definitely wasn’t expected to be wheeled into an OR on a Wednesday evening while all my students were suffering through Keystone Prep (my least favorite teaching endeavor) and baseball diorama projects for August Wilson’s Fences.

While surgery was a blast, it was only fair that my work week became more interesting by teaching remotely from home while a substitute ran my in-person classroom. Let me tell you, you aren’t living until you’ve been projected on a massive SmartBoard to a bunch of bored seniors suffering from severe cases of senioritis as you attempt to garner conversation. It was one of the greatest experiences of my life ( I sure hope you’re catching the sarcasm dripping from every letter). What was even better was trying to lead seminar discussions with my Honors 10th graders only to freeze in my “Vogue” poses every few minutes. What a treat. Alas, I survived, and now I get to go back to reality (insert the rest of Eminem’s lyrics).

With only four more Mondays standing between me and sweet, sweet summer, my motivation scale is slowly dwindling. I really just want to lay out in my backyard with a cheesy novel, but instead, I have 25 papers to grade. Why did I do this to myself, you ask? Well, maybe it’s self-sabotage, but I’d like to believe that I want my 10th graders to learn writing skills and understand their own capabilities exceed what they generally think is possible.

At least 99.9% of my planning is done for the year, because now when I make excuses to procrastinate, I feel less bad about it. This school year - while different for everyone - was especially grating for me because I’m only a second year teacher. My first year teaching was rudely interrupted with pandemic madness, and my second year teaching was rudely interrupted with appendicitis. Will any teaching year for me be normal? Probably not, but a girl can dream.

My year has been insane, and of course, the insane train continues onward - especially as we finish planning the wedding (only 240 more days, and absolutely I have a countdown going), continue renovations on our house (which I’m so excited about - I never thought buying rugs and curtains could be so exhilarating), and finish out the school year with flying colors (hopefully).

It’s been real, it’s been semi-fun (except last week); so, I guess I should just keep chugging along. My espresso has been my champion, my number one - next to Mr. Know-it-All and Fred, and I wouldn’t want to spend life any other way. It should be a rollercoaster 80% of the time right? It makes life more interesting. At least there’s more to write about. Until next time ...