I’m not ready to talk about it and I’m not sure why.

I owe an apology to anyone who asked about my first day of school. There is a very good chance I replied, “It was good,” and I didn’t mean to be rude. Here’s the thing, it was good.  I can’t think of a way it could have gone better and still I don’t really want to talk about it. 

I am writing this post at 4:33 am.  I’ve been awake since 4:00.  You see, I went to sleep at 9:00 pm last night because I am so emotionally exhausted.  I am in the midst of figuring out how to live near one of my closest friends while still being me, I am watching tear gas being thrown at children, and yesterday I taught a class of 40. It is too soon in the school year to feel the way I am feeling. 

So here’s where I’m at: I’m good. Assume if nothing else, that the children are amazing and I love them. Assume that I am happy for every minute they are in my classroom.  Assume that if I am doing a bad job keeping in touch that I am watching twitter and hoping for other children to get to go to school soon.  Assume that I miss you but I have to figure out how to have a life here in San Diego before I can jump back into my digital ones. And assume I miss you, cause I do.

 

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