Fighting February Funk

Many of my colleagues at school subscribe to the following axiom, “Never make major life decisions in February.” The logic is fairly simple. As an educator (particularly in Minnesota), no month of the school year is more difficult than February. Cabin fever is settling in completely – both for adults and students – as your students are also reaching their breaking point in terms of tolerance for the tedium of the U.S. educational system. On top of that, at least in Minnesota, the weather is rotten and overcast. And, you often go the entire month with only one extra vacation day. I share all of that because I have the feeling that the next 27 days will require me to repeat the aforementioned axiom as a meditative mantra.

I have clearly felt the bite of my narcolepsy more strongly over the past week and a half. Clearly, I am pushing too hard again, yet I don’t know how else to handle the demands of my job, my family, and my sanity. I arrived at school today knowing that I had not only gotten some extra correcting done over the past weekend, but also I had even gotten two of the papers I received last Friday corrected already. That is a huge accomplishment for me. Unfortunately, I found little pleasure in it. The day was fraught with problems and concerns. Somehow, my colleagues and I need to fit the Middle Ages, the Renaissance, and Romeo & Juliet into the last three weeks of February. We also need to get our students registered for next year, fit in a couple of fun days, find space for chapel time, and still manage to keep them sane and motivated. All of that angst piled into the first 45 minutes of my day, as I also realized that both of my co-teachers are definitely fighting a cold.

Then, our students arrived. They had only one thing to do this weekend – read a fairly engaging piece of historical fiction to get a feel of an Ancient Roman city. Out of 41 students in our first class, at least 16 failed to do that. The numbers grew in our second class – 23 out of 42 did not read. Those numbers fail to count the students who said they did read that then failed to get more than 1 or 2 items correct on the 5 point reading check. Fortunately, we weathered that well and got the students going on some research. Although my students’ apathy bummed me out, it did not ruin my day. That would come after school.

As if my day had not drained me enough, I left school in a mild snow storm, realizing that I would have a long afternoon of driving. Picking up my daughter, I learned that she had been removed from her school’s gifted and talented program. Now, as an educator, I fully realize that many things need to be factored into how a gifted and talented program is run. The stunning issue today, though, was that my daughter was removed for her grades, but she had an “A-” average in the previous quarter. I also know that the supervising teacher firmly believes in multiple intelligences, which would make it strange that a student would be removed for “poor grades.” Nonetheless, I got to deal with a distraught thirteen-year-old on the way home. I could not even spend time in our house comforting her, though, because I had an ENT appointment. I was slightly late arriving there because of the snow, but they got me in immediately. Then, I had a much longer ride home (after a lengthy phone call with my wife regarding our daughter) because traffic slowed down even more with the snow.

Thus, I find my head already swimming, and February is not even 24-hours-old yet. The month does not bode well. I have no doubt that ups and downs await in the 27 days ahead, but I also know that my narcolepsy will make it that much tougher to bear those trials and tribulations. I will work to avoid major life decisions and to appreciate the experience of each moment. I also know that I will wallow at times because my energy level seems to be dipping again. In the end, though, I must remember how little I do control. Life and narcolepsy will be what they are. That is okay. I will work to accept everything that comes, and I will forgive myself when I rail against the injustice of my condition.