Imagine a schedule is a rug. A small rug on a slippery hardwood floor. It can be moved around, and it slips every now and then, but you like to think that it's going to stay put when you're standing on it.
Now, imagine this: Every time you set foot on the rug, someone comes up behind you and whisks the rug out from under you. You go flying and crashing as if you've stepped on a banana peel.
That's what being a teacher is like. I tell myself that no schedule is set in stone, and I'm well aware that schedules are subject to change, but the constant sense of having the rug yanked from under me is really getting old.
In a nutshell: The eight or so hours I spent reading and preparing for "Narnia Day"--our last of the semester--are wasted because of schedule changes. There's no time to make up for it before the end of the six weeks because of a last-minute schedule change last Tuesday in which English Lit was cancelled (again).
And, as sure as I'm sitting here, I know that we'll have more unexpected class cancellations before the six-week period ends in mid-April.
It is very, very frustrating. It quite literally makes me sick to my stomach.