TAKE A RIGHT TURN AT THE HYPOTHALMUS
My brain is a complex thing.
I don't say that haughtily.
On the contrary, that statement is made in part because I am amazed (and not in the good way) at how this jelly-like substance inside my skull attempts to solve problems.
Attempts is the key word here, folks.
You see, rather than the normal shape for a human brain, mine is more or less like the small intestine ... 18 feet of convoluted twists and turns that require a few good years to cogitate and cognate upon any given, weighty subject.
This conclusion was drawn today, immediately following my penitence in D-hall.
I have been teaching for five or six years ... it's all a blur really, but it's been long enough, as my mother would say. For all five or six of those years, I've been bugged by the fact that the way of doing lesson plans just doesn't jive with the way I organize my thoughts or my life. It doesn't make any sense.
Every year, I start out with the best of intentions, and usually, by March, I've written my lesson plans in every conceivable fashion and notion, and they still are not the least bit usable to me! Amazing ... and not in the good way! I find myself asking, "Why the heck do I bother writing it all down?"
Today ... at 4:12 p.m., it occurred to me how writing my lessons plans should be! It was an almost religious epiphany ... I could literally feel the burden lifting from my shoulders, and I couldn't wait to get home to start planning my second and third quarters.
Then I realized, at approximately 4:12:56 p.m. this wasn't an original thought. The way the lesson plan book had been set up? Yeah, well... yeah, um, it was pretty much set up the way I decided, at 4:12 p.m., that I would hereto and forever more be designing my lessons.
Ummm ... is six years a bit too long to realize that about my lesson plan books?
Somewhere in Michigan, my mother's head has just involuntarily banged against her keyboard as she realizes the amount of money she and my father spent on privately educating the small intestine in my head.
I don't say that haughtily.
On the contrary, that statement is made in part because I am amazed (and not in the good way) at how this jelly-like substance inside my skull attempts to solve problems.
Attempts is the key word here, folks.
You see, rather than the normal shape for a human brain, mine is more or less like the small intestine ... 18 feet of convoluted twists and turns that require a few good years to cogitate and cognate upon any given, weighty subject.
This conclusion was drawn today, immediately following my penitence in D-hall.
I have been teaching for five or six years ... it's all a blur really, but it's been long enough, as my mother would say. For all five or six of those years, I've been bugged by the fact that the way of doing lesson plans just doesn't jive with the way I organize my thoughts or my life. It doesn't make any sense.
Every year, I start out with the best of intentions, and usually, by March, I've written my lesson plans in every conceivable fashion and notion, and they still are not the least bit usable to me! Amazing ... and not in the good way! I find myself asking, "Why the heck do I bother writing it all down?"
Today ... at 4:12 p.m., it occurred to me how writing my lessons plans should be! It was an almost religious epiphany ... I could literally feel the burden lifting from my shoulders, and I couldn't wait to get home to start planning my second and third quarters.
Then I realized, at approximately 4:12:56 p.m. this wasn't an original thought. The way the lesson plan book had been set up? Yeah, well... yeah, um, it was pretty much set up the way I decided, at 4:12 p.m., that I would hereto and forever more be designing my lessons.
Ummm ... is six years a bit too long to realize that about my lesson plan books?
Somewhere in Michigan, my mother's head has just involuntarily banged against her keyboard as she realizes the amount of money she and my father spent on privately educating the small intestine in my head.
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