Wet Passioned Revolution


'Tis a wet and dreary Friday morning, but T.G.I.F. all the same. Sitting here awaiting the morning bell, the Real McKenzies playing in the background as black coffee slowly etches open my eyes. In spite of the grey picture that I am painting, I am very happy to be where I'm at in my life - to once again have a position that fosters passion and creativity. Perhaps it's my inner masochist - killing myself to live - that needs to push myself to extremes in mostly everything that I undertake, but the status quo seems to be too much like death with its never changing rot.

Everyday in the classroom bears a remote similarity to those busy days I spent working as a Correctional Officer at a men's maximum security prison as both were draining. The main difference is that in prison, hope is pretty much non-existent and you hardly give a toss when hardships befell the convicts. School drains you down to your marrow because everything is for and about the students and you are driven to facilitate their success. Harder still is the home-lives several of my students have - this isn't something that they chose, it's just where they landed. In only three weeks on the job I've had Social Services in to investigate.Convicts were somewhat victims of circumstance too, and perhaps the Buddhist in me could have been more compassionate toward them. I suppose the constant concern of assault and death threats contributed to the black facade one had to develop to work in such a place, or the fact that there was rarely an instant of positive interaction. Really, there is no comparision to these two microcosims.

And with that my missive draws to a close...for now. Have a class a future revolutionaries to prepare for! (Afterall, when my students query "Is this for marks" I reply "Everything is for Marx!")