This is the calm before the storm, I think.

Hours before I leave for upstate New York, I'm compulsively chewing rectangle after rectangle of gum. I intermittenly sing single lines from whatever song plays on the SoundDeck. I have to spend the next few days solely with co-workers. I haven't done anything like this since I was in a summer Shakespeare program in college that required me to spend days and days at a time at a bed and breakfast in the Texas hill country. We'd talk for days about theater and Shakespeare, only pausing to swat flies out of our faces. I can't tell you how tedious I found it. I like talking to people who haven't necessarily read "The Tempest." I like air conditioning. I like watching Project Runway and laughing at Vincent.

What kids don't know about those short days before school starts again is that teachers stay up at night thinking about them, too, with a chalky mix of dread and hope. It scuffs the surface of my dreams at night and in the day. Kicks the back of my seat.

I hope this year is completely different from the last. Actually, I already know it will be. I hope I can grow accustomed to it.