Coming back to school after a break isn't fun. My colleagues are unhappy. We act glad to see one another but the general mood is depressed and though misery loves company, company doesn't breed happiness.

Outside the classroom window bare trees sway gently against a blue sky while green grass and frozen leaves stretch across the field. This view in one thing I like about the job but I want to break through and escape. The glass would likely cut me to ribbons. There has to be a better way.

I'm staying in my classroom as much as possible. The hallway, other rooms, and office are minefields of discontent. I hear people rehashing a thing from half an hour ago that was of no real consequence. I can almost smell their hair on fire. It's too early for that. It's always too early for that.

There's a chill on my shoulder from the window and a stirring of warmth on my leg from the space heater whirring behind me. Jim Hall and Pat Metheny are playing on the speakers. I have this document open and am writing. This much is right with my world.

Early today I wrote Morning Pages about managing a long-term problem such as a bad but necessary job. Grin and bear it only works short-term. To do more than survive I need to accept what the job is, confine it to contract hours, take care of myself by writing, reading, and running, laugh at the absurdities, and remember there are things to which I look forward. (Six hours until quitting time. Three school days until the weekend. February break in thirty three school days.) I have to maintain hope and take action.

Andy Dufresne says hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things but I know that hope is nothing without action. I have to make new opportunities, stay out of the nonsense at school, and refuse to light what little hair I have on fire. The way forward involves writing, hoping, and working toward some better place. Probably not Zihuatanejo but maybe even better.