One day at the job that will someday be my career, and I'm already turning into Rich.

Today when I got home from school, I kicked off the Steve Madden pumps, examined the feet for blisters, and then commanded to James that he make me dinner.

When he refused, I made comments about working all day, bringing home some sort of bacon, and being underappreciated, and then he ignored me and went to the gym. Meanwhile, I went to lay down, which turned into a three-hour meganap, woke up, had a couple of beers, and had an intense desire to lay back and watch a "game" on TV. I don't watch any sort of "ball games," but tonight, I'd have done so, with zeal, had we any television channels that came in. Today was the first day I'd been back to what I can call "work," although its unpaid and in school, for four months, and it was long and wonderful. Tonight, I guess I could call "A Hard Day's Night," although I'm quite certain that John should've actually written that song in past-perfect tense, because "I had been working like a dog" makes more sense than "I've been working like a dog," as it's night and he's not working anymore. (Although, after mentioning this proposal to James, he argued that the Brits have different rules that they accept in grammar, using those odd tenses that us 'mericans wouldn't oft approve of.)

*

Today (really, yesterday, I wrote this post in two days): I accidentally wore the school colors of the other high school in town, Century's rival, the Rockets. I ran around in high heels for a long time, sweating in the humidity, hauling things into my new office. (Shannon, how do you do the heels for so long? I need your infinite wisdom, here.) My office is amazing. All day I kept thinking people were going to sneak in and tell me I could've have it anymore--because I've absolutely struck gold here. Somehow the efficacy lady and I are sharing an office that is the size of half a classroom. Just she and I. All of the other teachers have offices that are a little less square in shape and a little more rectangular, but with a similar amount of surface area--and they all have eight of each other in there. Somehow, I think this was a gross oversight that ended in my favor, and I'm not going to say a thing about it. I'm just going to continue to bring my vintage lamps in there, continue to frame my favorite poems and stick them to the walls, continue to hang pictures of my friends in every corner so as to remind me that I love this job, and I love teaching, but there is so much more of me out there, and its okay that I bring that part of me to school. (And you know what? It took me a really long time to find pictures of y'all that didn't have us drinking in them.)

The officemate isn't even here fulltime, so I'll find myself in here, alone. This is the kind of office that will make me want to stay at school until late at night. Honed up in here, cranking the Frank and Beethoven, planning lessons and grading papers with no distractions. I don't want to leave. Not even to go to class. Not even to go to lunch. This office came with a microwave, and I'll be eating at my desk. No teacher's lounge, no negativity seeping in through the cracks on the floor--because we have carpet, of course. I've considered throwing a bean bag in the corner. I consider being a speech coach just because this would be a great place to practice. I consider a pillow hidden in the desk for the post-lunch nap.

The students have five minutes to change classes here, and when there are two minutes left, music plays over the loud speakers to remind them they're running out of time. Yesterday, between 1st and 2nd hours, I heard Rick Astley's "Never Gonna Give U Up," and I kept expecting Jenny to walk through the door as though she'd planned it just for me.

The first day. A good one. A half-day, though, and today is the real challenge. Although, it's still Mr. O's class. I sit up front and look pretty, which is hard in a skirt when you sort of want to sit like a man, and I write my email address on the board and tell the freshman its privileaged information.

And yesterday, at the end of the day, the half day of 18 minute classes, I asked Mr. O: Do you think we changed any lives today?

Picking up on the sarcasm, he said, Oh yeah. I think we brightened some futures.