It's done. Another year of lessons and grading. Another year of getting up early and going to bed knowing there is still work to do. Not really a year, of course. 196 days. It always seems like it went quickly in hindsight. It always crawls in March, and April begins the push as the end comes in sight in my planning. May begins with a feeling that I can't fit it all in and usually some adjustment so we don't go crazy in the final weeks. Then there the push at the end which is part joy, part duty, and part adrenaline push. Then the last line on the sign out sheet is initialed, and it's done. Over. Stop. Take. A break.
D. and I passed a sign for a bereavement group and he joked that I was in mourning for the closing of school, but that's pure overstatement. But there is a strange disquietude that impedes summer joy, though it doesn't totally squelch it.
So I move from having my day governed by bells and papers to a stretch of days (66) with few governing forces. I should be thrilled, exuberant even, but I am simply thoughtful and tired.
