Red Hot Mutha'

I was looking at the bullshit sent out by the Md. Art Teachers Assn.' today and I have to stop and think, "what's wrong here?" as I read the topics to be presented and the lists of speakers. I suppose I should be excited when I read the brochure; I even know one of the presenters. But frankly, I have no real desire to be involved. I see that next year's conference will be held in New Orleans, but deep in my mind (if I'd ever go) I'm already figuring out ways to slip out of the conference and go shopping, sightseeing...etc... I guess I'm supposed to get all hyped up about being an art teacher, but I'm not. I think a long time ago I got all excited about it, but the only things that excite me about teaching now are summers, days off and my health benefits. Yep, you could say I'm burned-out. Oh, don't get me wrong. If I teach your kid you'd never know it. I come up with creative ideas and some really awesome projects that would probably knock the socks off of anybody at that conference. Kids love my class; I get lots of hugs. I do what I'm supposed to do and teach the curriculum, despite the lack of water, a sink, and visuals that all got "thrown away" years ago. Don't worry; your kids get a good education. Like I said, you wouldn't even know I'm burned out. I'm good at hiding things; I suppose that's what us"Cancers" are best at doing. Matter of fact, I bet some of the better spies out there are Cancers. Probably with their Moon in Sagattarius. But I digress. I have a goals conference this week with my administration. So, I'm supposed to think of some goals for this school year, but I can't do it. I've racked my brain and still: nothing. I feel like going in there and saying, (like the Princess in that stupid Eddie Murphy movie that I can't think of the name right now) "I like whatever you like." I want to say, my goal is to feel like my job really means something again, to feel like I'm doing some good. I want to say, my goal is to kick out all the kids who really don't feel like being there, to give the poor kids here a chance to use paint and papier mache and oil pastels and glue and construction paper for art's own sake because it's fun. And because most of them don't have any of that stuff at home or anyone who cares to use it with them. And then, I just feel guilty. Because, I'd rather be at home doing this with my own child. All day I deal with other people's children that adults have weighed down with years of baggage (even at such young ages) and all I care to think about is my own child. Don't get me wrong; he's in the best of care. He's at home, with my own mother right now and his dad can see him whenever he wants. He probably doesn't even miss me. But it causes me to think that something must be wrong with me, because I can't really get excited about anything else unless it relates to him and his well-being. Perhaps in a way, Vincent has saved me.