This can only mean one thing

The morning has flown by, somehow

There’s always another thing to do, and the decision fatigue being a teacher is real

We’ve shifted into a new unit of study, and with it comes both novelty (which the brain likes) and a transition, a lack of ritual (which the brain does not).

I’m leaning through a few different possible ideas for lessons with my co-teacher, when she notices the clock.

Lunchtime, D

OK Em

When she first started with us, our other colleague warned her about my proclivity to ‘not’ take care of myself

And in her gentle reminder, just two words, my work sister reminds me she cares.

She sneaks out of the room with a bright smile, and I’m alone for a moment.

I realize it’s the first time I’ve really caught my breath today.

I let out a deep, heavy sigh

The endless nature of this life we’ve chosen, this limitless profession, is yet again peeking up through the floor

And I’m checking yet one more thing off my to do list when he walks through the door

Arms raised, triumphant, both body and spoken language

This can only mean one thing!

He bellows, silhouetted and triumphant

Let’s go

We have a standing arrangement, whereby if he’s able and interested in joining me, we sneak off for lunch together. Two years ago, I would do it once maybe every three weeks. It was decadent, and somehow, felt a bit wrong.

These days, I go for a hot bowl of spicy pho almost every day

Now it feels wrong when I don’t.

He messages the office, we wander over to the bikes, throw on our helmets,

And drift

With hot, slurpy noodles, and the richest of broth

on our minds.

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