8 days...

For three years I have been wondering what it would feel like to graduate. What would be running through my head a month, a week, a day before it happens. Graduation is not one of those things that you just say “oh, it will happen some day” and then when you least expect it, it is here and gone. You know an exact date, for sometimes years, and look forward to the day with anticipation. A hovering air of mystery and suspense shrouds this particular day, as if when we reach it my life will be revealed.

Until this point in my existence I have only been preparing to live, not actually expected to live. I have been gathering information with an expectation to survive long enough to use it. Last semester I was participating in 21 credits worth of classes at Edinboro. The stress I went through almost drove me to suicide. For about three hours one dark October evening I fought with myself mentally over what I should do. I was drowning in work and struggling with social connections, my life was perpetually miserable.

I owe my life to some very good friends of mine, who pulled me out of my depression and back onto my feet. They pushed me forward with the full expectation that I would succeed. Once I passed this test I found myself in my final semester. Student teaching was more educational than all the classes I had ever taken combined. No one could have prepared me for the shock and challenge that awaited me. I cried at least once a week at school, and much more at home, started drinking, made out with 4 people, bonded with my family, quit a job, spent a whole day staring at my ceiling, lost 30 pounds and created a business.

As I sit here in the art room at Cochranton Elementary the sound of children’s shrill voices fills the air, buzzing constantly, never ceasing. You start to block it out after a while, it becomes a new standard for silence. A child’s obsession with speaking is too great to tame. So many thought run through their heads at a time, they are unable to hold it in. I love it. I love teaching all together actually. I was born to be a teacher, and hope to continue as one for the rest of my life. Sitting here at my desk gazing out at the classroom I have become so familiar with, I am so happy, so at peace; I never wish to leave. I wake up every morning excited to come to school. I go to bed every evening longing for the night to be over for the new day to arrive. I have been lucky to find something that I love so much in life that it excites me anew every single day.

Perhaps the best thing about teaching is the interaction with the children. I am much stronger at teaching high school students than elementary students. I feel like the constant lack of control in an elementary classroom is ill-suited for my personality and expectations of my students. In a high school classroom I can engage in conversation with my students, I can communicate with them. The amount of communication you can have with an 8 year old is limited at best.

On the other hand, I love the elementary students for their life, vitality, excitement and curiosity. Children are all so wonderfully bright and intelligent, Their ability to absorb information is never broken, never satisfied.

17 Days

I graduate in 17 days. Thats Seventeen, in case you didn't hear me. Seventeen. Not a month, not a year... 17 days. WTF. F. F. F. Where the hell did this semester go?! I, Abigail Lynn Binkey, am graduating from college in 17 days. F.

Well thats all for now. Just though I would let you know.

17...

Barrow, Alaska

So I applied to teach at a school in Barrow, Alaska this week. Barrow is the furthest town north in the u.s., its in the Arctic circle. That's right... damn cold. It has the lowest average temp of any us state, not the lowest record, just the lowest average... this means it is insanely cold all the time, not just on specific days. The highest recorded temp EVER was 79* F in July and the lowest recorded was -56* F. The average temp in the winter (Sept through Feb) is -20.1* F. It holds The record for most consecutive days with the low temperature equal to or below 32 degrees, which was set in August 1955 through June 1956 = 321 days. It also experiences midnight sun and polar night. The polar nigh is when the sun sets on November 18 or 19, and it remains below the horizon for about 65 days. Beginning on around May 11 or 12, the sun remains above the horizon the entire day, and the phenomenon known as the midnight sun is observed. The sun does not set for 82 to 83 days, until around July 31 or August

So.. yeah... thats where I want to go lol

Elijah.

The four-year-old boy screamed the high pitched shrill of a distraught child. His tiny body shook with the force of it as he clenched the sides of the blue plastic chair he was being restrained in. One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… the scream stops. Several seconds pass as the other children stare at the disturbance. They must be used to this by now, I think to my self as I watch for their initial reactions. The child starts screaming again, one of the other children bursts into tears, stumbles over to me and clings to my leg. As I scoop her up into my arms the screaming stops again, the boys slight body is trembling more now as he flails his legs in an attempt to reach anything close to him. The teacher holding him against the chair shuts their eyes and rests their forehead against the back of the chair as the child puts their head on the seat of the chair between their legs. Several seconds pass. The girl in my arms continues to cry softly against my shoulder. The boys body tenses, his forehead comes off the seat and he inhales deeply. Here it comes again… He screams once more. Three more of the others scramble over to me and cling to my sides, pressing their tiny bodies against me as tightly as they can, as if their classmates scream might blow them away if they don’t. One… two… three… four… five… six… seven… eight… nine… ten… he stops, letting his body sag, folded in half, forehead resting on the seat between his shaking knees. His breath comes in ragged gasps as he attempts replace the air in his lungs that he just expelled. The teacher behind him lifts her head off the chair. She is crying.

“Miss Binkey, please call the office, tell them that Elijah is having a meltdown.” She says softly as the boy tenses for another scream. His next scream last the whole time it takes me to detach the children at my legs, walk to the phone and dial the number. The boy stops screaming just in time for the secretary to tell me that no one is available to come up right now, I look to the teacher and shake my head. She places her head on the back of the chair again as Elijah inhales once more. We have to keep him the rest of the class. I glance at the clock, Katayah still in my arms. Only 30 minutes more. Elijah screams again.

So i started a new job this weekend. It is going rather well. I cook/ run salad bar/ dish-wash/ prep at Ruby Tuesdays at Millcreek Mall. It is not exactly the most exciting job, but there is always stuff to look at and people to watch. Of all the jobs I do there, I like prep the best. Prep is when you get everything ready for the next day. Mostly braking product down into portions and putting them into bags. It is a very repetitive job that requires almost no though or movement, leaving me free to day dream or watch people as I choose. I usually need a lot of stimulation at a job but this really doesn't bother me very much. I am the only girl in the kitchen, which makes it rather interesting, amongst 6-7 guys. I am a rather short person so pushing my way through all these guys can prove challenging at times. None the less, I am going to work the rest of the school year there, until I graduate in May, and possibly over the summer if they can guarantee me hours. That is all for now, will write more later perhaps.

I feel dead. I feel hollow. Or do I? When one feels so cold it is hard to tell what you feel. My head hurts, I think. It is difficult to even lift my fingers to type this. I keep misspelling words, they are not coming out right. I know that this probably doesn't make sense, but I don't really know what to do about it. I think that I am angry at a friend, he has not texted me back, or he does and he will apologize. I don't want an apology. I want you to make it right. My finger tips hurt, you know, from working on the mosaic at school. They are bleeding. It kinda sucks. I will have to wipe off my keyboard after this. The whole right side of it has tiny red dots on it, like little bugs. It is a good thing I have the letters memorized, or I would be in trouble. The little bugs are not moving, just growing with every stroke of the keys. Poor bugs. Poor fingers. There is a little streak of pain that flies up my finger every time I hit a key with it, adding to the color. It is nice though. I don't really mind. I have not been functioning fully for the past three days. Just kind of dead. Maybe I will go to sleep.

sad

The tears clung to her long onyx lashes, pulling two day old charcoal off in beads, shimmering in the pale light, like oil in water. The only movement of her body being the breath that barely kept her alive, shivering with each inhale, deflating with the exhale and, every several seconds, a blink of her fluorescent blue eyes that caused the poised droplets to leap to their deaths at the mercy of the frigid stone floor.