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Sitting in Sixth Hour MAG
We are writing notes on the American government.
That is to say, “we” as in
“ought to be ‘we’”
or “everyone in the room
except for me,”
or perhaps, more realistically,
“approximately 65%
of the students in the room,”
or something of the sort.
I’m quite sure we understand
the difference between
the executive
and legislative branches,
because we were discussing
last night’s presidential debates
before class began.
We know this, and you, the teacher, must know this,
and yet
curriculum is curriculum,
so we sit
for 1 period,
45 minutes,
2,700 seconds
every day,
just in case anyone doesn’t remember,
“L” is legislative, legislative legislation laws,
“J” is judicial, judicial judge judgement,
and the executive branch is the other one,
with the, well, President,
and such.
It is sixth hour,
fitting for this class period,
at least for me,
because I understand the United States government
clearly, and my brain needs some rest
before seventh hour:
Honors Algebra II
I am not upset,
I’m not even particularly bored:
this is an enjoyable class,
but
lunch just happened,
and
we were chatting and laughing and eating
just ten minutes ago,
and
we’re full and sleepy,
and,
it just,
um,
puts things in perspective.
I feel, well,
very existential
or something of the like
in sixth period,
I feel a kind of unexpected recognition,
one which doesn’t seem to flow from anywhere in particular,
yet powerful nonetheless,
of what life can hold,
a gimmer, a glimpse,
during lunch,
and the understanding
of the pain
that will arise
in the future,
next hour… or next year or whenever it will be,
but I sit, in sixth period,
relaxed, at ease,
among friends, a good teacher,
a nice, bright classroom,
surrounded by calm,
where our only goal is to learn things
I already know.
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