Bein' a Student Teacher.

It's a struggle being a student teacher. Most everyone I've talked to seems to agree with this. It's a right of passage, it seems. A struggle to have two mother hens in one classroom. I think, at this point, it's best just to accept that we're all almost there, and we're all certainly past the point of no return. So, essentially, it's temporary.

I took the 5038 English Content exam recently. It wasn't too bad. I wouldn't suggest going in without preparing - but it wasn't too bad. It seemed to me that a couple nights of focused studying went a long ways. I will say, when I first looked at the practice test, I kinda panicked. In the end, I just refreshed myself on every term I came across on the practice test which I couldn't remember. It seemed to do a ton of good. There weren't very many literary identification "know the author" type of questions. There were a good few comprehension questions, but there's hardly any way to study for that.

Anyways.

The PLT is next. I'm worried. It should be okay though.

That KPTP's been rearing its ugly head at me, here and there.

Austin Mann said something about "a light at the end of the tunnel" the other day before class, I wrote a poem about it. It's still in the works, let me know if you have some suggestions. The poem feels like its kinda trying too hard right now.

Something to Orient Ourselves Against

We talk of lights,
And ends of tunnels,
And ask aloud,
If they're there,

Perhaps there are some lights,
Which aren't plugged in near the stairwell -
For an unbelievable length of time,
At your Grandma's house,
Classic White, holding out in a hemisphere,
Against floral wallpaper,

Or when you were young-
Green opaque,
Ninja Turtle shaped,

Lets thank our friends and family,
For the comfort we have received,

But no,
Not all lights,
Are nite lights,
Posted 12 inches from the floor,
There to help you, near the obstacles.
We cannot see.

Moving forward, we can't tell where we are,
Like Oedipus, We may suffer our deeds,
More than we act them.
'till the day breaks,
And the room is illuminated and new again,

And you might not be,
In the place you thought you were,
While stumbling with your hands out,
In the darkness,

there are still some lights,
Motion sensored,
Which flicker on,
Once you've hit them,

Useful,
By the time you've passed them.

Something to Orient Ourselves Against, extra poem, inspired by Austin Mann

Something to Orient Ourselves Against

We talk of lights,
And ends of tunnels,
And ask aloud,
If they're there,
"Is there a light at the end of the tunnel?"

Perhaps there are some lights,
Which aren't plugged in near the stairwell -
For an unbelievable length of time, decades, years,
At your Grandma's house,
Classic White, holding out in a hemisphere,
Against floral wallpaper,

Or when you were young-
They were green opaque,
Ninja Turtle shaped,

Lets thank our friends and family,
For the comfort we have received,

But no,
Not all lights,
Are night lights,
Posted 12 inches from the floor,
There to help you, near the obstacles.
We cannot see.

Moving forward, we can't tell where we are,
Like Oedipus, We may suffer our deeds,
More than we act them.
'till the day breaks,
And the room is illuminated and new again,
And you might not be,
In the place you thought you were,
While stumbling with your hands out,
In the darkness,

It seems, something has to separate everyone,
It catches us.

But perhaps there are still some,
Motion sensored,
Which flicker on,
Once you've hit them,

Useful,
By the time you've passed them.