This, too, shall pass.
01/23/2003

I am reminded this week of what a high anxiety student I was. Grad school starts next week, and I have been avoiding dealing with it. My friends ask what class I am taking, and I do not remember. I find out when school starts from my former housemate who is in the MFA program for creative writing. I do not yet know where my school is really (though I do have the address) and how I will get there. I thought I would figure it out today before tomorrow’s graduate student orientation, but when I got home and found the flier for the orientation, I realized it was yesterday, not tomorrow. So not only did I miss some important information I will probably need soon, but I still do not know how I will get to my classes Tuesday afternoon. Why not? Because I am scared. I am scared of sucking at being a student. I am scared that I have been teaching high school writing for so long that I won’t be able to write past 12th grade level. I am scared that I will not have time to be the kind of student I want to be. I am scared that I am not going to have time to be the kind of teacher I want to be. I am scared that I will blow this. I am scared that I will not get the education I want and need. I am scared that my body will break down just like it did today.

I had the afternoon double period as my prep period today; I had planned on finishing writing my interim reports so the nightmare could end and I could start meeting with my students about the reports, catch up on grading slowly... But by lunch, I had a colossal headache that debilitated my entire being. I don’t know how I managed to proofread C.’s personal narrative on her coming out story before she submitted it to the school’s literary journal, nor how I sat through the Students of Color meeting without any lunch, but I did. Then, I put my laptop in my backpack, and left. I get home to nap, sleep through the entire afternoon if possible, my body broken…and there is construction right outside my apartment. Thank you, PG&E for your impeccable timing. I fall asleep for a bit anyway. When I get up with only a minor trace of my headache, I still cannot concentrate on work, and my body is burning the way it does when it needs me to turn it off for about six hours.

Little things are weighing me down this week. I am annoyed so easily by people at work this week. And I am not taking care of myself. I am not saying no. I am watching myself volunteer to attend the second workshop we are offering to students on contextualizing racism and ethnic discrimination in the U.S. – next Saturday, 9 am to 3 pm. I am not taking care of myself. I am not saying no. I have not felt a personal connection to my students even while I was having personal talks with them for a while. I have not Felt. Personal. Connections. They have been there, but I have not felt them. I have not felt. I have not felt the personal. I have not felt the connection. I am scared.

“I am scared, mom.” I am reminded of what a high anxiety student I was.