I am getting pounded by this course. It’s not the work so much; it’s the emotions involved in scrutinizing my methods and having the courage to admit that most of what I presented in a classroom is only teaching by the most marginal of definitions. I leave every class trembling, blinking back tears and muttering to myself under my breath. I actually cried yesterday while I was reading my poem. No wonder no one wants to be my novel study partner.

It’s not all bad. I love being downtown. I love studying teaching, even if it’s gouging away at my self-esteem. I like several of my classmates. And I seem to be on top of the homework. I just need to curb this lamentable tendency to pick apart every criticism as if it were a bomb threat. My class is a folded up note and I’m an 8th grade girl. It’s terrible.

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 7/06/2005 09:16:00 p.m.