First of all, I need to mention, reader, that if we're going to be friends, there's something else you need to know about me (other than my general geekiness and reading habits.)

I am not a morning person. This is the rule rather than the exception with people in general, but with me it extends to not being a wakeup person.

Let me explain. If you happen to call me late at night while I'm asleep, I will have no recollection of the conversation the next day. This is nothing personal. If you were to wake me up to take me out to dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town and give me a million dollars and a car on the way home, then offered me a tenured professorship at Harvard and proposed marriage, and if all this took place within an hour from having woken me, I still wouldn't remember it. I'd wonder whose Mercedes that is out there gathering dust, and why Harvard keeps calling me about not showing up for my classes; I'd be surprised to find a huge check laying around my room and would probably dismiss it as marketing mail I'd opened and forgotten about, and would probably wonder why you kept bringing up a honeymoon. I might have some vague recollection of a dream involving nice food and generous people. But that would be it.

I call it early morning onset Alzheimer's, when I remember something's happened at all.

Anyway, insomnia becomes me. I get five hours of sleep a night, one to six, and arise feeling totally clueless until I drink some coffee at around 9. I rarely if ever remember my first class of the day after the fact (though I do sense that those students are rather vicious and inattentive.) This morning was the same, only I had to tell everyone that I'm leaving.

I didn't tell everyone, just the kids in my two favorite Monday classes. The eleventh graders seemed to take it personally.

Student A: Is it because you don't like Estonia?

Me: No! Not at all. I love Tallinn. In fact, I don't think you realize how beautiful it is, because you've been here all your lives and have gotten spoiled.

Student B: Yeah, foreigners tell us that alot. I knew this girl from New Zealand [a place that seems to stand in as Really Really Gorgeous, Far Off Country in my students' minds] and all she did was talk about how pretty it is here. We had to listen to her for hours.

Me: Yes, I think that's true. No, it's not because I don't like it here. I love this job, and I really like my students. I'm going to miss you ladies very much. [This class is almost all female, and Mihkel was absent. Though I'll miss him too.]

Student A: Why are you leaving, then?

Me: Uhhh... well, I miss home. You would too if you were in Brooklyn, wouldn't you? [general agreement.]

Student A: What are you going to do?

Student B: Are you going to be a teacher when you go back?

Me: No, I'm planning on going back to school.

Student A: For what?

Me: I'm going to major in Political Science, and try to go into politics.

Student B: Get George Bush out of there!

Me: [laughing] This is a job for Superman.

By that time I was almost crying. It was sort of sick. I told them I thought we should have a party on the last day of class- every class I've offered this to has said something like, "What kind of party? Will there be vodka?" And I've always said that Coca Cola and cookies are about all I think I can legally pass out to them. I then had to go talk to my coteachers to let them know. They were really sweet, and a little pissy that they're going to have to find someone to replace me.

J, my gossippy coteacher with whom I usually spend free hours chatting, well, her husband just got back from Florida, and she keeps bringing it up.

Me: It looks like I'm moving back to New York City.

J: You are. Well, we're sorry you're leaving.

Me: I just want you to know that this is the best job I've ever had [cue narrowly-averted waterworks] and I love this school and my students. It's nothing personal, I just miss home and want to go back to college.

J: Hmmm. [beat.] I was talking to my husband, and he said that no one ever exercises in Florida! He said no one ever smokes, but they all just stay in their houses! And they have these big pools, all full of water, all the time! Everyone has a pool! Can you imagine such a thing?

Me: I know. It's rather wasteful. But not every state is like-

J: And they leave their lights on! All the time! And I asked my husband why they leave their lights on, and he said [pause for effect] it's because their neighbors do! Can you imagine?

Me: I know, it's- um, J, are you mad at me for leaving?

[beat]

J: All their lights. All the time.