Hamster Wheel Keep On Turning

We had a pet hamster once. Okay, more than once because those things are not built to withstand children, but that is beside the point here. It was obsessed with the spinning wheel in its cage and would run with such enthusiasm that it would make the wheel spin wildly and throw the hamster out and into the mulch. Undeterred, the hamster would stagger around for a moment and then climb right back into the wheel. He never realized that no matter how fast he ran he didn't get any further than the same damn cage in my brother's disgustingly smelly room. I don't know, maybe the running created a little hamster wind of fresh air for him. Anyway, I have become that hamster. I am well aware of the fact that for the past few months (year?) I have basically gotten no where significantly different than where I was before but I keep jumping right back on that wheel every darn time I get thrown off. Apparently my intelligence level is that of a hamster. Duly noted. A lot has happened since I last wrote, including my requesting a transfer of schools for next school year and applying out of district in case a transfer does not occur. Condensed version of a long story - I refuse to sacrifice my career to someone who should never be allowed to work with any living creature more sophisticated than the aforementioned hamster. Long version - if you can't write something nice, don't write anything at all (until you securely have a job for next year). Getting tired of the same damn wheel though, I did decide to change my frantic run a bit. I restructured my class, which has resulted in two dazed and confused assistants and a mutiny of children who do not appreciate having structure introduced into their world. Someone forgot to inform them that the classroom is a dictatorship, not a democracy, and I am head dictator. Therefore, "no" is not an option unless I offer it to you - not even when you scream it; not even when you scream it while hitting me. You would think I was asking them to take a bath in boiling oil instead of the much worse task of sitting in a chair at the table doing things like painting, coloring, playing with sand, and playing games. NOOO!! Not games! Not Paint!! NOT FUN!!! What they want is anarchy, total freedom to run around like three year old wild children, literally climbing the walls, and demanding that we fetch them this toy or that treat. Um, hell no! Reality check. I don't take orders from anyone who still pees in their pants. I will listen to you, I will engage you in lots of fun learning games, I will offer you time for supervised free play, but I am the dictator here. True, I am a dictator that rewards with candy and cookies, but then again Marie Antoinette offered cake... :) I plan on writing more now that I am back on a steady hamster wheel, with more predictable crashes into the hard ground outside of it. Hell, I don't even know if I am writing anything that anyone reads of just carrying on a strange written conversation with myself. Either way, its a hell of a lot cheaper than therapy!