Monday, February 23, 2009

Tax prep prayer

I haven't posted in a while and I felt like I needed to make some kind of update, if for no other reason then to inspire my fellow blogging buddies to update their own blogs (hint! hint!).
I did our taxes this past weekend. I always feel like after I submit them, I need to include a letter that says something like "Dear IRS, Please don't send me to jail. I tried my very best to navigate the jungle that is tax-paying. If I owe you money, I swear I'll pay it. Just tell me the amount. But please don't send me to jail for any mistakes I made. They weren't on purpose. Love, your very loyal law-abiding, tax-paying citizen"
Does that sound too pitiful? I hope so. I send that message each year via ESP hoping whoever receives it will take pity on me and accept my taxes and not audit me. So far, it seems to have worked. So I'll just keep sending the no-jail-time vibes their way in hopes of remaining jail-time-free.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Ya ever feel like me?

My friend, Julie, who's teaching her first year, wrote the following on her blog:

"My student teaching is getting totally out of control. I'm so frustrated. I think that's all I work on, think about, dream about etc. etc...Although teaching is not really the type of field where comparing serves you well," - so very very true, Julie - "it would just be nice to know that others are in the same boat as me."

After thinking about her thoughts for a few moments, this was my comment to her:

"I AM TOTALLY IN YOUR EXACT SAME BOAT. It feels like I'm in a sinking dingy in the middle of a hurricane with every kind of sea predator there is lurking in the water while I'm feverishly trying to save the 20 10-year-olds on board from drowning. That's what teaching feels like to me. And the crazy thing is, I still like it (not the sinking feeling but the teaching part). I may have to post this..."

...if for no other reason then to prove that I am, indeed, crazy. Does this mean that I'm a masochist (at least my professional life)?

Hm.