predicatable seasonal transitions

I have been dormant for a pair of winter months. Let's just say this is the last day of the hibernation and that the thaw will begin shortly. Whether or not the actual weather agrees with this schedule is irrelevant. Traditionally: educators--especially rookies--get rejuvenated around this time of year and I guess I'll just go ahead and buy that. It makes sense. January is kind of like the Wednesday morning of the school year.
The overwhelming sentiment so far--besides all the wonderful ups and downs and progress and adventure and excitement--has been, I can't wait for next year. But at the same time I really can wait for next year. I have learned so much so far that I would love nothing more than a clean slate, but I also know that four MORE months will probably double this feeling at least. So it makes sense. Ready for a new beginning but fully aware that I could and will become exponentially more ready by the time it actually happens.
Then again, there is pertinent news:
I have been excessed. Now, that isn't even a word. It is an aggressively-verbed form of excess, which means too much. Too much teachers! Wasn't the whole point that there was too much not enough teachers? Well that is the way in this economic climate, and maybe it would be a chance for some sort of economic hibernation (ie. not getting a new job and still getting paid, which is sort of the deal if I so choose). I could do that I suppose, but I was blessed with a principal who looks out for his own, even if 'his own' has only been around for four months. So I got hooked up with a brand new job at a five-year-old school (not a school for five-year-olds), teaching tenth-grade-science (Earth Science), fifteen-minutes-bike-ride (estimated) from my house. So, this is sort of a new beginning right in the middle of the year. I don't really know from earth science, but perhaps that will keep me on track for simply preparing students to take a standardized test. That's a horrid thought, but it makes some kind of horrid sense. They come into this system expecting coverage, and not really primed for so-called 'uncoverage' (which is the obviously-preferably-nouned version of the word uncover which means discover). So if we start with coverage, as I have learned the 'hard way', we all begin on a page entitled: This is a Classroom: get ready to Learn. It's called structure. We can always deconstruct later on, but we can't deconstruct if there's NO DAMN BASIS.
So that's that. I'm moving to a new job on February 2nd, and I'm taking the day off today to reset my calibration. One final push over at Transit Tech, and then I have 'a new lease on life', so to speak.
If this was my personal journal I would write all about growth and the organization and emergence of annual patterns of human behavior both globally and locally, but that would keep me on a tangent for longer than I can reasonably sustain here at K-Dogg's Coffee shop; and it probably wouldn't hold my interest long enough to write, let alone for anyone out there to read. Unfortunately, I have just transgressed the unspoken boundary in the otherwise limitless world of 'blog journalism', where I have hinted--hinted, mind you, until this, the next logical, perhaps, thought--as to my relationship to whatever audience this writing might have. This opens a whole can of speculation as to who I even think the audience is, and whether I am writing to anyone in particular other than myself. Again, with the hesitancy to use the pronouns you and me, I have to ask us together, what is the basis?
In the absence of faith in a so-called basis, I tend to find that faith IS the basis.