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What Just Happened

Hands up if you thought Ms G was dead?

I’m the first to raise my quivering digits. The past five weeks of teaching practice have been GRUELLING to put it in a gentle, splendid way. If I was to be crass and hyperbolic about it, well, there would probably be drawings of dead people. The dead people being me. I nearly died. I nearly DIED.

As you may have begun to notice, ever so perceptibly, I am no longer as close to death as I claim I once was. By “once”, I mean two days ago. By all this pompous wit, I mean I have been watching comedy by Stephen Fry (and his loveliness taints me, oh, but how).

So, let’s talk about my resurrection. I have come down with a Universe-cursed anxiety-vexed shit-load amount of issues such as mouth ulcers, enflamed and infected cuts, headaches, sore throat, croaky voice, blocked ears, nausea, bad things coming out of ugly places, pimples, dirty hair (ok that one is my bad), mess, unvacuumed floors, skipping meals, eating crap, eating food with MSG in it, ordering cake, not eating cake, THROWING AWAY CAKE – and herein would lie my darkest of sins…

…Except there is this one: I have fallen behind with my work – a sacrilege deserving multiple exclamation points!!!

I have fallen behind with my work. I, the Queen of Supreme Wisdom and All Things Organised, was photocopying worksheets five minutes before they needed to be distributed, I got in trouble with various grown-ups about various adulty things that I didn’t do, and most shamefully, I did not meet my own tip-top levels of perfection that I have been demanding since birth and THUS
I managed to add disease to anxiety and completely collapsed in the middle of the week.

So I took a day and a half off work to sleep. I ate three meals a day. And I SLEPT. Like a cat on codeine.

And now, just nine hours until I’m expected back at school, I can honestly say I feel better. And I no longer want to become one with my duvet. And I have worked my tits off so I can be three days ahead of schedule, as the grown-ups expect me to be.

The moral of this high-winded post? You can’t do it all. So panic less, and breathe more.

Don’t anyone tell me to work more, or to stress less, because I will hit you with a weapon made of dictionaries, filing cabinets and anxiety medication.

Myth-busting time: For all those foo’s who thought that teachers work only until 2p.m. I’ll have you know that Ms G (and most other staff I know) works well into the afternoon, way past 5p.m. Then I spend my nights marking, worrying about the increasing rate of pregnant learners, and debating whether I should do an impromptu sex-ed talk the next time someone asks me what contraception is.

Sometimes I look for that piece of paper thingy with the lines, and I find I have already filed it away neatly…

I think I have become a filing somnambulist.


(Also, did you notice: Ms G and MSG? Am I a monosodium glutamate? Ahahaha aha — oh dear.)


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