(Think Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice Keira Knightley version: “I love, I love, I love you.”)
Teaching is just one of those things that you love so much only because you can hate it so much too. You know? Like your spouse or your children or your Halloween candy. (No offense Ryan and future babies and holiday.)
Like today I love teaching. How it’s just so fun and funny and all about learning together so utopianly: “Come, let us reason together. Let us sit in a circle and talk about ideas that inspire us. Come, even if we disagree, I can use your ideas in my paper to address counterarguments.”
The other day, though, I hated teaching, when after class all I could think about was “GROSS” and “EWWW” and “How annoying“: the lesson plan, the questions, the weird atmosphere. I wanted to bite everything, including my face, and then hide it in my dress bib, like this:
But then today happens and I’m all gooey inside.
Which concerns me. I feel like teaching is that abusive boyfriend who beats you up, but then has his apologetic, tender moments of redemption, which keep you holding on.