The kids aren't alright, and neither am I. In the last days of the semester, everyone's working on their collaborative projects, which means an already loose classroom environment becomes
. . . even looser. I'm afraid that I'm a bad teacher. They're afraid they're not going to finish. I can no longer tell who's actually participating, since I have no more panoptical powers (unless I insist, say, that they copy me on all their electronic communications, and that's just too creepy).
Plus it's raining again for the second day. There was snow on Monday, at the same time the fruit trees are all blooming--the specter of the gray day, big gray close clouds, fat wet flakes of snow, just about the same size and loosely the same shape as the blossoms.
In just two weeks, the semester will be over, and we'll all be released from this. I have my summer mapped out as if I were the general of an army ready for war games. My assault on the world starts . . . NOW. (or in two weeks.)