A little bit of a miracle

I did not get all the papers done for today (101 still in a stack beside my desk), but I returned the papers for both 102 sections, so they can now work on their revisions. Even just that much is a small miracle for me these days.

I'm going to skip 102 tomorrow morning to chip away at the 101 papers--after getting some sleep, please heaven. I was up at 5 this morning so I could get those 102 papers done, and both yesterday and today, if it hadn't been for the alarm, I'd have slept until God knows when. (My body is finally starting to override my mania. "I don't care how wound up you are, dammit, go to sleep and stay there!") All I had planned for the class was a little review of sentence-level problem spots and then more discussion of the novel: they won't miss anything by not having the class, which probably wouldn't have run the entire period anyway. I do intend to come in for the poetry class in the afternoon, but if I'm too exhausted (or haven't gotten enough grading done), I'll cancel that, too. We've been joking in the office about "snow days." William will declare a snow day for his classes on Monday; Paul's declaring one for himself tomorrow. (I've had more snow days than both of them put together--but I've always been pretty good about taking a lot of time for myself when I feel I need it.)

Class or no class, Paul and I are going to go out for a drink tomorrow: he needs to blow off some steam--and I need to celebrate getting promoted to associate. That also feels like a bit of a miracle: of the ten people from this department who applied, six of us got it--including all five of the applicants from my "year" (the people who were hired the same time I was). That means William and Kristin got it, too, which is great: we're all so close, it would have been unhappy if some had made it and others not. Now we have to keep fingers and toes crossed for Paul when he goes up next year (he decided to wait a year--which means I now outrank him, something I'll take great pleasure in rubbing his nose in at opportune moments).

But getting back to the classes today: I realized that there is actually a reason why 101 is so painful (beyond my general impatience to get this semester over with). Because there are so few students left--and because even the best of them still can't quite operate on full college level--it's torture to try to do anything at all with them. We can't have a profitable discussion about the reading (because half of them won't have read it or won't have understood it), and for some reason it feels weird to go over nuts-and-bolts stuff in "chalk and talk" mode with them (I guess because I am so indoctrinated in the "small group/interactive learning" methodology that lecturing only feels appropriate to a large group? Hard to explain or even understand myself). In any event, I canceled the last two readings and their accompanying journals. One student asked if they could do them as extra credit and I said no, rather fiercely: "If I'm canceling them, that means I don't have to deal with them either." (They laughed.) The other advantage to canceling those readings is now I don't have to re-read them--another time bonus. Thursday we're going to go to attend a talk on local environmental initiatives given by a state assemblyman. All next week, I'm turning them loose to work on their final projects. I'll be there to help, but any substantive teaching feels futile at this juncture, so I've stopped trying to do the heavy lifting. There's pedagogically useful stuff still going on, even if the in-class time is decidedly unstructured: they'll still be doing revisions of the papers I have yet to mark and return; they'll still be doing their projects and final papers (which arise out of their projects) and an in-class final. And all that will be good enough.

One nice thing: I have no more work to collect from anyone this week, so whatever is in my hands right now is what I'm going to have until Monday. Therefore, I stand a fighting chance of getting the decks clear at some point in the next week or so--and that really is a miracle. There are little niggly bits of P&B business I have to tend to (setting up appointments to interview potential adjuncts; writing up the last of my observations) and of course the various committee meetings continue unabated (and yes, I was a good girl and went to departmental curriculum today), but that's all just what Daddy would have called turning the crank: churning away at the routine. Once I get the present stack of stuff out of my hair, I'll have a little bit of a breather. Evaluating revisions doesn't need to take much (they don't care about comments, just the grade); proposals are a bit of a push (I have to turn them around fast), but they're short and relatively easy to respond to. At the end of the semester I have to read a hell of a lot (but no marking!) and the number crunching takes some time but no processing/responding (which is the part that is painful). But that is always just a week of mania and then blissful collapse into sea cucumber status. Ahhh, that will be great.

And it's four weeks and two days from right now. Still seems too long, and still is going idiotically slowly, but I know the pace will soon pick up wildly: that whole down-side of the roller-coaster ride, fling-your-hands-in-the-air-and-scream thing.

Right at the moment I'm noodling away time until dance class. I am not even telling myself I "should" be working, as I know damned well I don't have anywhere near the requisite brain for it. (The last two 102 papers I graded were incredibly difficult: they were both good papers, but I have no idea if I was making anything approaching sense in my commentary, as I was unsure whether the problems were with their writing or my ability to comprehend, which is seriously compromised at the moment.) Dance will be great: no brain required (and in fact it can be a hindrance). For some reason I'm a little gun-shy about hustle these days--despite a blast of a class on Sunday, in which I was the demo model for not one but two instructors--but I'll do it anyway and if I trip over my own feet (or someone else's), so be it. Then to stagger home and fall blissfully into bed. God, that sounds good!

By the way, regarding P&B election: we're having a run-off--and all the candidates are still in the race. I'm afraid we're going to have a zillion run-offs: if we all insist on remaining as candidates, why would anyone change a vote? The only thing that might make a difference is that on the last ballot a number of people voted for only two candidates instead of three: if everyone votes for three, that might put a few of us over the top? We'll see. My vote isn't changing, that's for sure. Nor is my determination to remain a candidate--unless it becomes clear that I'm losing votes and becoming less likely to be elected (in which case I would graciously bow out--and drown my sorrows in, well, knowing me, a hot fudge sundae or something rather than booze).

Oh, but thinking of committee service reminds me: I got the most wonderful compliment from a colleague today! Saw him in the hall after the curriculum meeting, and he told me I was nifty, that I always say something clear, to the point, and constructive in meetings: that I am not pushy but direct and strong. I was utterly flattered and delighted: what a lovely thing to be told--and how lovely of him to make a point to tell me. Added a bright spot to the day, and the week. Praise is a wonderful thing, isn't it? Something to remember when thinking about poor, struggling students.