On Monday, my students came to class having read the wrong chapter. I wrote the wrong one on the board, and they did the wrong assignment. This kind of caused me to have to ad lib for the class that day. I feel like I did alright with having planned to talk about a completely different thing. It certainly wasn’t a huge deal, and we got over it. My schedule for the semester is not thrown off really badly. It’s just a thing that happens. A small oops.<\/p>\n
However, it kind of destroyed me. It threw me into a huge depressive state, and I went home and hid, even though I still had things to do that day. I haven’t done that in a long time. It was really upsetting. I tried to explain this to Brer, but unfortunately for him he chose the wrong time to use humor to try to cheer me up, and it didn’t really get across. I couldn’t really explain why this was such a serious event. I guess I’m about to try here.<\/p>\n
There were those two years of school where I got nothing done because I was so depressed. I stayed at home, hid, and played video games locked in my room. I didn’t get anything done, because I couldn’t muster any energy to. Then, I turned myself around, and focused. I haven’t fucked up since. I’ve kept a 4.0, kept up with my job and such with no issues. Even as I’ve gotten depressed, more depressed than I can ever remember being, I stuck with it. I didn’t make mistakes.<\/p>\n
This was a mistake. It’s a mistake I could have made, even if I wasn’t depressed, and it isn’t a big deal. But it’s a mistake.<\/p>\n
Work is kind of the last safe haven for me at this point. While I’m working on things. I don’t have time to be depressed. I don’t have time to worry. I have to complete the tasks at hand, and I do complete them. I do them well. No matter how shitty things got, my work wasn’t going to slip. I was still going to be a hard worker. I was still going to be someone you can depend on to get things done. These things are important to me. They help keep me going.<\/p>\n
Writing the wrong number in class makes me feel like I am truly falling apart. It makes me feel like I am, slowly but surely, being defeated by all this bullshit, and that just makes me even more depressed. I can’t lose this fight. But I wrote the wrong number on the board! It’s the first glimpse at how I’m going to slip. Or so the evil part of my brain tells me. It’s frustrating and makes me want to cry.<\/p>\n
I know I’m going to do just fine. As I said, I’ve already fixed the problem. Not a big deal. Nothing got thrown out of wack, and I’m still a good teacher. Plus, while I was so obscenely depressed, Jonathan, Spaeth, and Kevin came over to game and cheer me up, and that was a huge help. (It also taught me that, man, I have lost all skill I once had at Smash Bastards.) I’ve got great friends, and I’m a good worker. I’ve got this covered.<\/p>\n
But that stupid 14 instead of an 11 was an omen. I wrote a poem about how it all comes down to 14. Fourteen times I fucked up and fourteen times I didn’t, and I’ll do it again fourteen times.
\nBleh.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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