For the second day in a row, I’ve stayed at work until past 6. My students leave at 3:05 each day and I am lovingly pushing them from the school so I can finally get work done. And work I do. Serious work: grading, diagnosing, commenting, reading, planning, working through the stress of having to teach something I’ve never taught before. The silence of the school after the kids go home is one of the nicest parts of my day. This is not to say that my kids don’t bring me pleasure, but teaching is a fairly stressful thing, and if I’m not totally prepared, it can make or break my day (and everyone else’s day who comes in contact with me.)
So for two days, I’ve hovered over books and journals and my keyboard trying to make educational magic happen. It feels good to come home without any work to do, and that’s partly why I choose to stay late (because my days of homework have ended). Nothing beats being able to walk in the door, drop my bag, and not have to worry about anything until the next morning (which comes much sooner than I’d like, seeing that I’m coming home much later than I’d like.)
But things are good. I feel useful. I feel like I have a purpose in those hours after school. I feel like the time I put in matters and makes a difference somewhere. To someone. That’s a great feeling.