Job: check.

So now I've finally caught up to the present, which is a tiny sublet in Greenwich Village - I'm about ten feet from Washington Square Park - and a new job teaching middle school.

I moved in just a few days ago, and I'm starting to settle back into the rhythms of subway travel and overpriced grocery runs. Every dollar I spend is breaking my budget, but I stopped for a New York Times this morning, early, on my way out to a school in Brooklyn.

The weather forecast: Hot.

The school I was visiting: Un Air Conditioned.

So I had sweat running down my forehead by the time I got up in front of the class I was observing. The teacher decided to let twenty four eager seventh graders - each of whom has about a fifty percent chance of having me as a teacher next year - interview me.

"What grade are you going to teach again?"

"Are you going to be hard?"

"How do you feel about fighting? I mean, if someone is hitting you and beating you up, shouldn't you fight back?"

"Where did you go to college?"

"If my cell phone rings in class, and it's my mom and I really need to get it, will you take it away from me?"

"Can I have it back at the end of the day?"

"Do you like us so far?"

"Have you ever taught before?"

And then, the kicker:

"How old are you?"

I was going to add a couple years, at least, but the real teacher cut me off:

"She's old enough to be your teacher, and that's all you need to know."

So then I got marched down to the principal's office and offered a job, which I gladly accepted. this school has been my first choice throughout the placement process; I get a good feeling from the students and teachers I've met so far. So that's that then.

In about a week, I'll start my grad. school classes and my summer boot camp teacher training sessions. For now, I am taking time off to celebrate the fact that, for a few more days, I have nothing at all to do.