Teaching dreams

Heh...if you read the title of this post differently, it might sound like I'm talking about a class in which dreams are taught. Well, that's not actually what I'm talking about, but it sounds pretty cool.

I'm talking about the dreams I've had about teaching recently. I keep having this recurring dream in which, out of the blue, my mentor teacher from when I was student teaching calls me up and tells me I have to come back and teach for a week. It's always a week -- I'm not sure what the significance is of that time period. Anyway, I immediately start dreading going back to teaching, partly because it's been such a long time since I've done it that I don't really remember how to teacher, but also because I just plain disliked the whole teaching experience. Well, hated, actually. This dream was unusually vivid last night -- I actually dreamed that I went through about half the week, and I felt the passage of time dragging sooooo slowly (kind of like when I was teaching in reality). And it was ridiculous, because I only needed to teach one class, but it still felt like hell. After Wednesday's class, I feel like crap, so I decide to go out and party or something. The next thing I know, it's Thursday evening, and I forgot to go to school. And I get really anxious, and then I wake up.

So what's it all mean, huh?

I think it's just reaffirming my absolute hatred of my teaching experience. Man, did those three months suck. I remember one of the people that I got a ride with said something that I really think summed up my feelings about my foray into the world of secondary education: "Another day, another dollar that we're paying to come here." I remember that the most happiness I felt during teaching was on the drive on the way to school, because none of my plans for the day had screwed up yet. I can hear my mother saying, "Come on, not everything you did was a failure." Yeah, but a lot of things were. Too many for me to feel any satisfaction. Teaching for me was definitely not joyful or transformative or any of those other happy adjectives that good teachers ascribe to teaching. It was painful, tedious, humiliating, and, worst of all, a waste of my students' time. I'm pretty sure they didn't learn a damn thing from me. And as much as I like to blame the system -- which, don't get me wrong, is unbelievably screwed -- a good chunk of the blame falls on me. I guess I'm just not cut out to be a teacher. I don't have the ability or desire to sell stuff -- and that's basically what teaching comes down to: salesmanship.

Which I think might explain why I like "Speaker for the Dead" (Orson Scott Card) so much. For those of you who haven't read it, firstly, go read it. Actually, read Ender's Game first, then read Speaker for the Dead -- Ender's Game is a bit more action/adventurey than Speaker for the Dead, but you need to know the plot in Ender's Game to fully appreciate its sequel. It's hard to explain, so I won't try. Suffice to say, when I die, I want someone to speak my death. Larissa'll know what I mean.

On a different note, I'm comin' to San Francisco, baby! I've already picked out the flowers I'm going to wear in my hair. I would ask my brother for his, but he's bald. And satanic-looking, apparently. By the way, bro, remember when you posted that link to the "G.I. Joe recontextualized" stuff? I loooove that crap. It cracks my shit up. "Nice catch...but too bad yer ass got saaaaaaaacked!" Comic gold, it is.