It was a day.

1. I tripped down the ramp to my classroom once, but no one was looking.
2. In said tripping, I did not rip my new nylons (PHEW.)
3. I successfully called the kid in the back corner of my second period by the wrong name at least three times. He was kind enough to remind me of the error.
4. I did not lose any students in any of my three "locker opening practice" sessions, nor did I get yelled at by any other teachers because my students weren't that loud.
5. My powerpoint presentation worked, and my computer was not stolen. Also, some students were kind enough to laugh at my feeble jokes about wanting to marry Peter Pan.
6. For every student who stared at me like I was Professor Binns, there was at least one who made an attempt to look as though reading a Disclosure Document was entertaining and worth paying attention to.
7. I did not fall asleep on my feet.
8. I remembered to take attendance.
9. I remembered to lock my door when I left my room.
10. I still have my voice. Mostly.

All in all, I'd say it was a day. Not good or bad, just a day. All that can really be said of it right now comes in the form of a few quotes all from, you guessed it, Anne of Avonlea:

"When Anne reached the school that morning. . .for the first time in her
life she had traversed the Birch Path deaf and blind to its beauties. . .all was
quiet and still. The preceding teacher had trained the children to be in their
places at her arrival, and when Anne entered the schoolroom she was confronted
by prim rows of "shining morning faces" and bright, inquisitive eyes. She hung
up her hat and faced her pupils, hoping that she did not look as frightened and
foolish as she felt and that they would not perceive how she was trembling.

She had sat up until nearly twelve the preceding night composing a speech
she meant to make to her pupils upon opening the school. She had revised and
improved it painstakingly, and then she had learned it off by heart. It was a
very good speech and had some very fine ideas in it, especially about mutual
help and earnest striving after knowledge. The only trouble was that she could
not now remember a word of it."

*****

"When school was dismissed and the children had gone Anne dropped wearily
into her chair. Her head ached and she felt woefully discouraged. There was no
real reason for discouragement, since nothing very dreadful had occurred; but
Anne was very tired and inclined to believe that she would never learn to like
teaching. And how terrible it would be to be doing something you didn't like
every day for. . .well, say forty years."

*****

"Well, how did you get along?" Marilla wanted to know.

"Ask me that a month later and I may be able to tell you. I can't now .
. .I don't know myself. . .I'm too near it. My thoughts feel as if they had been
all stirred up until they were thick and muddy. The only thing I feel really
sure of having accomplished today is that I taught Cliffie Wright that A is A.
He never knew it before. Isn't it something to have started a soul along a path
that may end in Shakespeare and Paradise Lost?"