Last night it was Michelle Obama cutting my hair, and me teaching a class on symbolism. I’m not joking.
I woke up at 10, 2, and 4. From approximately 10 p.m. to 2 a.m., Colby and I visited the White House, where Michelle gave me her signature bangs while Barack and the kids watched. Barack showed me their kitchen cabinets and laughed at his foolhardy idea to drill extra holes for all of the hardware. “Can you believe this shit?” He asked me, laughing, holding the various screws and handles in his hand. Let’s file this under “what the?”.
From 2 a.m. to 4 a.m. I was teaching a wild and dynamic class on symbolism and literary device in David Barnett’s room at Bangor High. It was standing room only – freshmen and seniors. I kept repeating “a symbol is something that stands for something beyond itself“. This was, of course, the most recent in a month-long series of school dreams. All my teacher friends – you know that teacher dreams reliably occur mid-August, every year. I just can’t stop. I’ve tried everything. I could understand if I were behind or truly preoccupied with a happening at school, but everything is FINE.
Do I have any therapist friends out there looking to donate some time? I love my job, really, but this school 24/7 is too much.
But, Oh, this winter. I love it and hate it. I’ve had lines from “Those Winter Sundays” running through my head for weeks. The blueblack cold and the splintering wood and reticence to rise from bed and enter into a sometimes angry world.