Yesterday was the longest day I’ve had this semester.

I woke up at 6:00 so I could be at the bus stop, to catch the bus that would take me downtown, where I could walk a few blocks from the bus station to the high school where I will be student teaching. It was my first time meeting my supervising teacher, and I was nervous. It was cold. I was dumb and had checked the weather in a hurry, making sure it wouldn’t rain while I was out. It didn’t rain, but I didn’t make the observation that it was about 50 degrees outside. All of this would have been better if I had a damn car.

Since I still had some time when I got downtown and near the school, I went to the bakery across the street. I had gotten a coupon for one free pastry when I donated blood a few weeks ago, so a free danish was my breakfast, washed down with milk. “Alejandro” came on while I was eating and looking out the window at the school. I thought it was funny, for some reason.

The school is nice. My supervising teacher is great, with lots of experience. I met the head of the department. He called me “Miss Enthusiasm.” I know it was a joke, but still I got this impression that because I was so eager (and equally jittery) to dive into my student teaching assignment, I had inadvertently set up this expectation of me and my personality, and I don’t know if I like it or not. Should I be happy that they think I’m enthusiastic, a go-getter? I mean… that’s good, but what happens if I come in to teach in January and I have been beaten down, tired, sad, and unenthusiastic? I want to be a good teacher, and I want the other teachers to respect me and think of me as this mature, ready, innovative person. It’s scary. And don’t even get me started on my speech… I was correcting myself all during my visit because I don’t want my supervisors/colleagues/students to think of me as some dumb hick girl.

Before class started, I got a visit from one of the current student teachers. We’ve known each other since my freshman year of college, and we had a class together. He asked me how I was feeling about it (honestly, very good, despite my trepidations) and he beamed about his class and how much he likes it there. It felt comforting. Like, “Yeah, you’ll be okay. This is a good school, and you have support.” I really appreciated his visit. I could have hugged him.

I sat in on two classes. The first was full of sophomores, the second, seniors. It was great. I don’t know if I’ll have some of the same kids when I’m teaching next semester, but I hope a few of them do. I fell in love with them. I want to be a good teacher for them.

After my visit, I took the bus home to change out of my dress clothes and have some lunch. Then I packed all my stuff up again and rode off to class. It was only 12:30, but my lack of a good night’s sleep hit me hard. After that class, all I could think about was going home. I wanted to go home. Home, home, home. But then I started thinking about the things that were bothering me, and I realized – I didn’t want to return to the apartment. I want out of the city. I want to go back home, with my mom, for a good night’s sleep and actual healthy food that isn’t the dredges of my pantry, leftovers, or peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I want to be away from my roommates; despite my general fondness for them, I have become annoyed at all three of them as of late.

I think my bitterness is coming to the surface again, since I am the only one who has to be out of the house early every day, and I don’t come home until much later than they do, and I work and I do all these things… and then they complain about getting up at 7:00 or 8:00, or complain about going to class at (god forbid!) 2:00 pm, and ask me to return or pick up items at the library that they could do themselves, and they ask me if they can have some of the food that I bought with my money, and then one of the stupid cats decides she wants to claw at my furniture while the owner just laughs and thinks she’s cute.

Yeah, totally bitter. I tried to make that sound better, but I’m just tired and bitter. What am I supposed to do? Yell at my roommates? I mean, they have their lives, and just because they don’t have my same lifestyle, I should try to change them? No! It would be nice for them to have more maturity and responsibility,  but I couldn’t ask them to be like me. Even I think my life is boring. I have a small social life, and even smaller patience, it seems. I still think it would be nice if for one day, they could walk in my shoes and think about how I feel before asking me to add another item to my back-crushing backpack for their benefit, or when they complain about going to class when I am gone all day.

Anyway – long story short, I didn’t come home until after 9:00 pm. I biked home in the cold and darkened streets. You know how scary that is? I hate it. I’m afraid I’ll be hit by a car. I hate to even think about how it might be if I have to walk from campus to my apartment. This is, yet again, further proof why I need a car. Soon.

Yesterday was a  fifteen-hour marathon of bus rides, formalities, awkwardness, classes, tedium, the library, and longing. I came home and didn’t say a word to my roommates. I don’t think I was mad at them then. I just didn’t want to see them. I didn’t want to speak to them. I almost wish sometimes I could yell at everyone to get out for a few hours, and just let me be. Instead, I went to my room and called Alex, happy to speak with him, but exhausted. Then I called my mom, who then yelled at me that she does the same thing all the time and that she had to do homework, so she wanted to cut me off. She’s a hardass, I know that and should be strong enough to suck it up when shit like this happens. But I had had such a long day, and I knew that she would be the only one who would understand (recently, I’ve tried to stop complaining to Alex and my friends – I don’t want to be that kind of girlfriend/friend anymore), and when she rejected me, I started crying. She felt bad about what she said, but she was right, in a way.

Three weeks into the school year, and I finally lost it.

On the bright side, at least it wasn’t the first day, as it has been for the last two semesters. But I had tried so hard to be strong and not cry about things, and I just broke down.

Now I just need to learn how to pick myself up again and survive the next few months.

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