Mid terms turn my brain into pudding; gross, low-fat, sugar free pudding.

Sometimes, like right now, I feel like this small child.

I feel like someone put me in a bunny costume called teaching and stuck me in a swing called collage and then left me there (that’s only  how I feel right now, I promise I love what i’m doing  every other day). I was talking to Heather after class today for like 3 minutes and she told me she realized she didn’t want to be an English teacher anymore. I felt bad because changing major’s sucks, and then I moved on. Then I got home after taking the dumbest mid-term of my life. When one of my roommates asked how it went, I simply said “I don’t wanna taco ’bout it” (partially because I think I’m hilarious but also because I really did mean that). She then continued to ask me why I do what I do if I hate all my classes. I had to correct her and tell her I don’t hate them ALL… just most.

How does this all tie into my chat with Heather? It made me think. Why am I doing this? I realize a lot of teachers make a difference, but do they even know that they did? I know mine haven’t a clue that they changed my life. Do I even want to be a teacher? What’s a good enough reason to pursue such a adventure? I want to be a teacher simply because I want kids to see they have a voice and learn how to use it, but is that really good enough?

I want to teach, but I really want to just write. I want to write a book that gets banned from school because it causes such a rebellion; for the first time in our generation; wouldn’t that be nice. And that’s what I want my students to do too. Cause an uproar! Like Garcia was (kind of) saying today, I want them to get mad, get passionate about something, and then just blurt it out in any form they can think of.

That’s all.


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