There are days that I just want to stay in bed, with the covers pulled over my head. I want to plug my ears to the tune of more bad news echoing economic hardship. I want to avoid life's uncertainties.
Today was one of those days.
There is a dark cloud looming at work. Teachers are bracing for the first wave of layoffs forecasted for March. Notices will be issued in two weeks. Ironically, the actual date that pink slips will be delivered falls on Friday the 13th. I'm not superstitious, but regrettably this day will go down in history as having lived up to its folklore.
The prospect of cuts hitting close to home has divided our staff into two groups: those who will be employed next year, and those who won't. Based on a few casual conversations in the lounge, there doesn't seem to be any animosity, but there is that pregnant pause punctuating each interaction, as we are all keenly aware of the elephant in the room. The question on everyone's minds... Who will get cut? Regardless the outcome, it will mean a great miscarriage to education.