OK, not really a post about the going-ons at ISTE (later). But meeting and talking with some interesting people. Another interesting thing is that as we are sitting in sessions, many of us are twittering and sharing thoughts, ideas, etc.
Had to re-post these two sites regarding obsolete products:
21 Thing That Became Obsolete This Decade
and as a follow up, a fellow attendee who I have been following on Twitter, teacherpaperless@twitter.com
21 Things That Will Become Obsolete By 2020
similar to 'buyer beware', educator beware!
Monday, June 28, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
Decompression chamber
OK, so school let out on June 4th (7th if you include having to grade exams and submit grades) and as well, I just sent off my final exam and written assignment for my latest M.Ed. course.
Every year I have gone through what I can only explain as the decompression chamber days during the first several days of summer vacation. It usually entails waking up and moving my body from my bed to the couch. I then proceed to lie in a semi-comatose state for the remainder of the day. I doze in and out of consciousness, the dogs taking complete advantage of my inability to shoo them away. My first year of teaching I was in this state of Gumby for about six days. It has now been reduced to two. But no matter how long the span, the feeling remains the same. It is a combination of exhaustion and relief coupled with a physical feeling of emptiness for lack of a better term. During this time, my mind has to make the adjustment as well. It has to learn to shut off. At least temporarily, it doesn't need to stir awake in the early morning hours processing the events of the day. But that's easier said than done. After ten years of teaching, I think that it's either a reflex or an addiction of the mind to have these neurons firing so early. But as the first days of summer vacation spell 'relax' my mind is running on the octane fumes that kept it going for the last couple of weeks.
Back to my corpse laying on the couch: it feels as though my bones have disintegrated and I am now a big amoeba. Sleep and only sleep remedies this unnatural state. My partner has long since learned to quietly avoid me during this metamorphoses. The understanding is that when I emerge from this cocoon void of lesson planning, grading papers and last minute changes, before him is a fragile and easily spooked creature. I can now share in the ritual of morning breakfast, not at the speed it takes a lightning bolt to spring from the sky, but in a relaxed and casual manner. I can use a spoon for my cereal instead of tipping the the bowl into my mouth and hoping to ingest the majority of the contents. I'm offered eggs, toast and coffee. The newspaper, it's contents still valid and not eighteen hours old sitting beside me. Is it Sunday? No. Oh the small joys of summer vacation.
Every year I have gone through what I can only explain as the decompression chamber days during the first several days of summer vacation. It usually entails waking up and moving my body from my bed to the couch. I then proceed to lie in a semi-comatose state for the remainder of the day. I doze in and out of consciousness, the dogs taking complete advantage of my inability to shoo them away. My first year of teaching I was in this state of Gumby for about six days. It has now been reduced to two. But no matter how long the span, the feeling remains the same. It is a combination of exhaustion and relief coupled with a physical feeling of emptiness for lack of a better term. During this time, my mind has to make the adjustment as well. It has to learn to shut off. At least temporarily, it doesn't need to stir awake in the early morning hours processing the events of the day. But that's easier said than done. After ten years of teaching, I think that it's either a reflex or an addiction of the mind to have these neurons firing so early. But as the first days of summer vacation spell 'relax' my mind is running on the octane fumes that kept it going for the last couple of weeks.
Back to my corpse laying on the couch: it feels as though my bones have disintegrated and I am now a big amoeba. Sleep and only sleep remedies this unnatural state. My partner has long since learned to quietly avoid me during this metamorphoses. The understanding is that when I emerge from this cocoon void of lesson planning, grading papers and last minute changes, before him is a fragile and easily spooked creature. I can now share in the ritual of morning breakfast, not at the speed it takes a lightning bolt to spring from the sky, but in a relaxed and casual manner. I can use a spoon for my cereal instead of tipping the the bowl into my mouth and hoping to ingest the majority of the contents. I'm offered eggs, toast and coffee. The newspaper, it's contents still valid and not eighteen hours old sitting beside me. Is it Sunday? No. Oh the small joys of summer vacation.
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