Really done

I got in later than I intended, spent longer at the doctor than I expected, got less done than I hoped--but the maintenance staff are champing at the bit to get in here and shampoo the rugs and wax the floors, and quite honestly, I'm not in the mood to hang out here for another hour and a half. I did hold them off while I met with the student who was asking for an incomplete: I crunched the numbers several different ways, but because his first three papers were all very late, the grade penalties on them were deep enough that even if I'd given him time to make up missing homework, he still wouldn't have gotten the grade he was hoping for--or could have earned, if he'd just met the deadlines. I feel bad for him: he may lose his financial aid, though I told him he should fight to keep it, and that I'd be happy to endorse any petition he might need to put together to have it reinstated. But one of the awful things about this career is that I'm often in the position of teaching young people very painful life lessons, not about their work but about being responsible, and the consequences when one is not.

But as of now, there is no real reason for me to stay. I'm not needed to do anything for contract signing (all I had to do was get a sign-up going for desk copies of textbooks and promise to deliver said copies to mailboxes by the end of this week). I could noodle around with all the bits of flotsam I had intended to clear up, but nah. It was so nice to lounge around the apartment this morning while it rained monsoons outside and my car was getting routine check-ups (like me) that I think I'll do more of the same this evening. Tomorrow I'll be back here at 10 a.m. to work on scheduling; then there's a little get-together at a local restaurant prior to commencement tomorrow evening. I will refrain from throwing rotten eggs at the Axe-man, the Supreme Ruler (he thinks); I'll take a good book to read, as usual (commencement exercises are exercises primarily in stultifying boredom). I'm enjoying the hell out of Larry McMurtry's Sin Killer, as I take a break from Jonathan Franzen's Freedoms, which is brilliant but painful. So I'm interspersing a chunk of Franzen with froth of various sorts. I'm not even sure I'll go to dance tonight, though I've been all set to do it. I can feel the post-partum blues starting to kick in: dancing would probably elevate my mood some, at least temporarily, but it's hard to pull together the social face--and to figure out what to do with myself in the intervening time (dance class isn't until 7:30). Well, we'll see (that mantra again). Right now, the only think I know for sure is that I want to get the hell out of this office and off campus.