"So, how are you liking it??"

I got asked that question a lot this weekend while I was in Tuscaloosa.  It's a tough one.  People pretty much expect you to say, "Oh, I love it! The kids are so inspiring, and I really feel like I'm making a difference in the world."  After all, instead of sitting behind a desk all day crunching numbers, I'm influencing young lives and using my gifts to help the underprivileged.  

Riiiight.

What I want to say is, "I hate it.  It's a thankless, miserable job.  I'm terrible at it, and half the kids I teach wouldn't blink if I died in the middle of class. I work my tail off and never see any fruit from it.  If I'm ever going to catch up with all the work that is required to get these kids on track, I will have to forego sleeping entirely."

But no one really wants to hear that.  And I don't really want to say it out loud.  Not to mention most of the time people ask out of cordiality and want the short, simple answer.  So I just think it. 

"It's....hard.  Never boring."  That's my little sound byte.  And I'm sticking to it.

Today, Trevell was making it impossible for me to teach (which he makes his main goal every day).  I ordered him out of the classroom.  

"F***ing bitch.  You bitches are crazy, always gettin on my for something, I f***ing hate this place.  Why don't you go cry to Mrs. D [the dean of students] like you always do."

"OUT!!!" I said.

"Gladly.  On my way.  What, you going to cry? Cry, just like you always do."

"I'm not bothered by petty insults from little boys," I replied.  "I just want you OUT!"

Of course I'm bothered.  Maybe not as much as I would have been at the beginning, but still.  As he left, I noticed my lesson plan folder taped to the door also had 'BITCH' scrawled under my name.  I guess he has some company in his opinions.

If I weren't afraid of quitting, I would have done it weeks ago.  Because the truth is, even though my job is 'exciting' and 'meaningful,' I am jealous of the people who are sitting behind desks crunching numbers all day.  I'm jealous that they get to go home and forget.  They don't have young, conflicted faces haunting them everywhere they go and the uncomfortable knowledge that failing personally is failing others that can't afford to be failed anymore.  I drive past the glittering skyline as the sun  is rising and I envy the receptionists, accountants, and bankers that work there.  I'm not saying their work is easy and void of stress, but it seems so much more appealing than what I do every day.  I guess the grass is always greener...