Gold Day. Formerly A Day. Day 48.

What commodity is more precious to teachers than the letters of thanks, and the celebrations of success of our students? I can think of only one thing more precious. The tiny salt crystals left on the keyboards and the desks gathered from the dried tears fallen during tests. Nothing is more precious or more rare.

Pure sadness cannot be bottled, but this desiccated sadness, in it's most concentrated form can keep a particularly talented teacher sustained for months.

Tomorrow is harvest day, and I have much work to be done! I hope to gather enough to keep me satisfied until the next test.

I'm a bit behind schedule, because administration, recognizing me as the authoritarian, no-nonsense, conservative conformist that I am, tapped me to teach the FBI class and so I have spent all weekend googling terrorism, how to take down a global computer grid, and how to send anthrax through the mail. Normal weekend stuff. Have to go. Loud knocking on the door.