Had a 47-minute conversation with my supervisor last night who called after I sent her an email detailing my grievances.
As I suspected, my team leader complained that I wasn't getting things in to her on time. The only dates she's given me are the dates when things are due, making me think I have more time to get things done.
We agreed that I need her to tell me when she needs the lessons, not when it's due. Also she complained that I don't give enough detail, but I was writing my lesson according to the way the template was written, with just the name of the activity, and no one told me I needed to spell it out.
I thought all I needed was to attach the activity sheet when the lesson is actually done. Then, on the other hand, I write too much content and don't leave things open to exploration.
Actually, all my activities ar self-instructing with the scientist making sure everyone is understanding the concepts and giving assistance when needed. But they want the teachers to do pre-school activities and have a science professor use them to teach them science concepts.
So, in other words, I suck. Who cares? I won't be working sixty plus hours finding activities and experiments again. I really just want to put in the minimal effort like everyone else, creating simple drivel instead of real curriculum. If that's what they want, that's what they'll get.
It's just a job. The less time I spend creating lessons that are going to be changed,, the more time I'll have for my course work and the writing I do well. Plays.
I have always gotten good feedback from my plays. Always. That's what I do best. So why am I not writing plays for a living? That's a good question.
I'm not depressed, just feeling hopeless, trying to figure out what purpose all of the stuff I'm going through serves. For a moment I felt completely useless until I started remembering…
The standing ovations for "The Race" in Wichita, Kansas. The Kool Achievement Award for B.R.AIDS. The rave reviews a scene from that play and my monologue about Sojourner Truth the dramaturgs gave in their critiques at the Chicago Dramatist Workshop. The children riveted to their seats and my friend, Kelly's effusive praise following the debut of "Moses at Gethsemane" at the Kent Branch Library here in Toledo. And the sight of grown, young, black men crying as newly freed mother and son were reunited at the end of "Juneteenth" at the Toledo Museum of Art's first celebration of the holiday.
And I know I have worth. I create art. I bring characters to life on stage. I make people laugh and cry and think. I may not be able to write a lesson plan to the confusingly nebulous specifications of people that don't know the difference between theater and theatre. But I can write words that when spoken on stage touch people's hearts.
That's all I've ever wanted to do and what God put me here to do. So, why am I not doing it? I want to, but I couldn't pay my bills for three months with the money the theatre has paid me in 38 years of writing, acting, directing, and producing. Theatre is not just art. It's also business. Time for me to start minding my business.
Somehow, some way, before I leave this planet I'm going to do what God sent me here to do.
Otherwise, what was my reason for ever being here?