The Teacher's Headache and the Grief Drain

I was utterly incapacitated yesterday by the teacher's headache. Apparently it is very common for teachers (at all levels, including the professorial) to get headaches on the weekend: once all the neck and shoulder tension from the week starts to let go and the blood vessels in the head dilate again--pow. Good thing I'd already canceled my ride, but I didn't even manage to get to the drug store to pick up a prescription that had been sitting there all week--never mind get any work done. In addition to that, I think the headache was occasioned by the fact that all week I've been fighting the powerful pull of the grief drain: it feels like my father's death in July created an enormous open drain somewhere in my psyche, and my mental and physical energy, my focus, my organizational abilities (always minimal at best) run down into that hole and disappear. I am not generally aware of grieving; it just goes on at that subterranean level, draining away, but this past week there were several mornings when--if I hadn't been on my way to work--I would have just sat down in the hall and cried. I did cry a while in the car on the drive to campus one morning, and I suspect that at some point I will get sucked down that drain entirely (if momentarily) and will have to give in to it.

But not yet. I am still able to distract myself with work. So, the pack full of papers that I lugged home on Thursday I lugged back to the office today (got that prescription first, in case I leave here too tired to do anything other than head home). I have gotten a fair number of papers graded--and again, I'm trying not to think about what remains but just to focus on what I've accomplished. Tonight I'm going to be sane about what I take home. Why schlep the reading journals and style guide review sheets back and forth when I know full well I won't get to them until next weekend at the earliest?

Going through paper submissions, I realize that five students (of the 11 no-shows) in my KC class still have not turned up: no paper, not in class on Thursday so didn't sign up for a conference time, no e-mail, no phone calls, nada. I got a notice that one of those five went to the Writing Center, but I still haven't heard boo from him. (I'm betting he comes by to sign up for a conference and is surprised when I won't accept his paper a week late.) Four of the 11 turned in papers on Thursday or via e-mail yesterday (for a few, "papers" is using the term loosely, but at least they waved vaguely in that direction). One young woman was in class on Thursday and signed up for a conference, but I have no paper from her: I'm taking bets with myself that she'll come by thinking she's going to pick up her graded paper and she'll ask me in a panic where it is: "Didn't you get my e-mail?" No matter how many times I tell them that A) they have to ask for permission before e-mailing a paper and B) once they have, it's their responsibility to check to be sure I got it and can open it, I always get a handful who simply (metaphorically) toss the paper into cyberspace and figure they've done their job. Of course, the up-side to the unsubmitted papers is that I have six fewer to grade: that's almost 3 hours of my time The down side is, dammit, I hate losing students over the first paper. I wish they'd at least take a stab at it. But I guess it's better for them (and for me) if they bail now rather than later. Still, it bugs me.

Some of the students are also getting a pretty violent wake-up call: they are suddenly getting slapped with the awareness that the practices they got used to in high school aren't going to fly any more. A number of them are getting papers back with the dreaded F. (Slap!) A number more are getting papers with grades much lower than I know they expect. (Slap!) A small handful essentially ignored the essay instructions and everything I said in class and simply wrote the same kind of personal response they're used to. (Slap!) Mr. Monkey Skulls was at least respectful enough to make some sort of attempt to treat the readings like they have merit, but what he considers an essay is what colleague Duane would call "playing with his own poop." It's just stream of consciousness, off the top of his head, completely unstructured and unconsidered bilge: the stuff that's washing around in what passes for his mind that he's siphoned off onto the page. (OK, I'm mixing metaphors and imagery: bilge would come from below decks, not off the top of his head or out of his ass. Come to think of it, he does seem to be talking out of his ass....)

Being the professional that I am (or try to be), I was set to comment on his paper the way I would normally, explaining what he needs to fix, think about, and why... and then I realized I couldn't do it. I can't respond academically to a paper that does not have a single requirement of academic writing. So in the margin of the first page I said that I'd respond in depth when I got an academic paper from him, and then I wrote a rather lengthy comment on the grade check sheet, explaining that the way he likes to write is one style; he does that well, but he needs to learn the style I can teach him so he has two to draw upon. He doesn't have to give up the style he prefers; he just has to learn when it is (or, more to the point, is not) appropriate. If he learns academic writing, he'll have added to his arsenal of approaches instead of having no choice but always to write one way. If he doesn't, in situations in which that way is incorrect, he'll have no choice but to fail. Which his paper did. (Slap slap slap, albeit couched in diplomatic language.) I don't know how this is going to play out, but I'm over being pissed off with him (for now: he may hit the launch button again in our conference). His arrogance and ignorance go hand in hand with his immaturity and lack of experience. He'll learn. Even if not from me this semester, he will learn.

I embarked on this post hoping it would provide a brain break and I'd be able to grade one or two more papers, but I'm cooked (and the headache has been lurking all day. Thank God for Excedrin: better living through pharmaceuticals.) If I get a burst of energy (or anxiety), I may write up an observation later at home, but no more grading tonight. I'll have to get in a pretty good whack tomorrow and probably burn the midnight (and 5 a.m.) oil through yet another week to do what I said I'd do (i.e., have the papers for Thursday on my door by Wednesday at 10 a.m.). After that, if I can't get caught up on other homework (still in a steaming pile here) by the 19th/20th, I'm going to stop assigning anything for a while. Homework has its uses, but only if I can evaluate it or at least go over it with them; otherwise it's merely busy work, not pedagogically productive.

Oh, promotion folder did you say? Yes, well, I think I have figured out how to reconfigure the 101 syllabi so that I can cancel classes a day or two (probably two) so I can hash that out--and fortunately, I don't have to have it absolutely complete on the 26th, just a first draft. But of course, the more complete the draft, the better for me across the next month(s). Happy freaking birthday--though as P&B members pointed out, if I have to turn the draft in on my birthday, it will at least temporarily be out of my hair and I'll be able to go out that night and tie one on. I'm not that kind of drinker (or much of a drinker at all, despite the talk), but I suspect I will, in fact, do something wildly indulgent as a double celebration. Paul, me, and one of the real-deal, top-notch steak houses on Cholesterol Alley, I reckon.

I think there was something else, but it's gone now. (No, not that I'm radioactive; something else.) Ah well, it's not as if my posts aren't long enough.