"Mr. G" The Snitch whispers as my sixth graders enter the room, "Lipsyncher ain't take her meds today. Watch out."
"Thanks, Snitchy" I say. Lipsyncher is the younger sister of a lunatic from the seventh grade class I had last term. I read her IEP, and I'm curious what to expect. Within the first five minutes of class she has pulled a crate of books off my library, spilling them, then torn up two classmates' work and showered it like confetti onto the floor. Then she climbs atop two tables and thumps her chest like Kong. I put her name on my detention list, she says "I don't care" and picks up a chair and tries to throw it. Fortunately I get there and stop her, but she picks up another and throws it at a fellow student. Then she lies on her back on the floor, puts her feet up over her shoulders straight-legged, and invites me to do something which would have made Pazuzu-laden Linda Blair embarrassed.
I'd already broken up three fights today in the hall outside my room, and had ditched my corduroy jacket and shirt for a black T-shirt. I thought I was back at Booker T for a while there. I called Lipsyncher's parents and she calmed down a bit, but boy what a day. It's about 104 degrees in my room because the heat is cooking on these cold days and I have no ability to regulate it, and neither of my windows opens. My poor Target box fan is getting a workout.
Aside from Lipsyncher, all the other students were somnolent today in the heat.