One nice aspect of being a teacher is the large amount of time off we receive. These vacations are merited, considering that our work day rarely ends when we leave the school building, and seems constant as we grade papers late into the evening or plan our lessons for the next day, next week, next year. Time off is a way for us to rest our overactive minds.
Then there are the unexpected days off, such as snow days. Recently, the three-day weekend we received for President's Day turned into a week-long snowcation. Several emotional components come into play during an impending snowcation.
First, every day is filled with suspense because we really do not know if school will be canceled or delayed until the important call/text arrives, which can happen at any hour, sometimes up to 5 a.m. There is nothing like pacing in front of the phone, guessing and betting with my other teacher friends, and constantly checking social media/news sites for any up-to-date information.
The suspense is extremely difficult for me because I tend to struggle with procrastination, so I experience a mental war between: I could fix my lunch for tomorrow now or I could take a nap. Usually, despite my greatest mental arguments, the nap wins. If school happens the next day, I condemn myself for the nap, TV show, Pinterest or online shopping. But if the next day is canceled, I praise myself for having great intuition and knowing how to manage my leisure time.
There's also the mental fight between the early bird and the night owl. Teaching requires me to be an early bird, even though I have always naturally been late to bed, late to rise. Now that I have reached adulthood, I will admit the early bird does catch the worm. Early birds have so many more hours in the day and seem to accomplish so much more. But there is something enticing about being awake at 1 a.m.; it almost seems as if I have the world to myself as everyone sleeps.
I can't help but instantly regret that feeling when I wake up at 10 a.m. the next day and do not get fully ready until noon, in which case I feel like the day has practically ended. When I do manage to go to bed at a decent hour, then rise at an appropriate time, I am either delighted by my ambition or feel regret that I didn't get more sleep.
After my early start, when the 10-to-11 p.m. bedtime hour rolls around, I start to think of all the extra things I could accomplish if I stayed awake for another hour or two -- or three. It is a such a vicious, indecisive cycle, but it makes me happy that my occupation demands some sort of routine.
And finally, snow days force me to face the decision of: Do I stay or do I go? When I lived on Signal Mountain, it was never an option; the roads were treacherous and horrifying. But now that I live in the balmy valley, I find myself thinking that I could run grab some food, or now would be the time to buy that pair of shoes or the scarf I have been thinking about. Then I look outside and I see someone in their car sliding down the hill across from my apartment, and I wonder incredulously about their judgment.
Contact Corin Harpe at corinharpe@gmail.com.