Argh redux

I have no idea what happened to today. I seem to have spent every free moment (not many of them, but still), clearing the decks so I could turn my full attention to marking the papers for the short story class--and barely managed at last to get to marking the dratted papers. I wanted a squirrel-free brain, which I did achieve, but now I'm tired and cranky and not feeling well physically (bleagh). And I was awakened by a squirrel stampede in the wee hours this morning, unable to fall back to sleep before the alarm, which also does not lead to clarity of comment on papers--nor is it conducive to stamina.

I've not graded many of those mini-papers, and so far, I don't see much improvement from the first ones. I realize, over and over, how hard it is for students to incorporate commentary into substantive change in their work. Breaking the old habits of thought and expression, even focus, is difficult. I tend to forget just how difficult, not having had that experience with writing. (Not that I didn't have bad habits--I did and do--but I've found it pretty painless to address them. I like words, and I see very clearly how they work.) I have, however, felt that blockage in many other places in my life, so I try to remember to apply my experience in my riding lessons, for instance, or with some of my bad habits in dance, to my awareness of what my students are going through. I still am pretty ferocious in my commentary, and in my standards, but I find I can stay more patient if I feel more compassion. Not terribly surprising, that.

In any event, clearly it's going to be another "get up early and hope I can get through it" kind of morning tomorrow. It's highly unlikely that I'll find the energy (or focus) to tackle any more tonight. I did get some very helpful feedback from Paul on the letter to Mrs. Lost. I'll deliver it to her tomorrow, and we'll see what happens.

But following my subtext about the need for patience (and my tendency starting at this point in the semester to lose it): I also briefly want to note an experience that taxed mine. Just a bit ago, there was a knock at the door. As I went toward the door to open it, the student started to walk in without being invited (which pisses me off), then asked to see "Miss" Payne. So, without being too mean (I hope) I set him straight on waiting for an invitation (which he said he thought he heard--though I'd said nothing at all) and on calling anyone in these offices "Professor." Then it turned out he is an engineering student, putting together an application for something, and he wanted an English professor to "proofread" what he'd written. I asked why he came to me: answer, because I had my office hour now. I directed him to the Writing Center--and he pushed me to help him myself. It's only one page, he said, just one; it won't take long. Nope, sorry, not my role. I'm here to help students enrolled in my classes, not as a general resource for anyone passing by. Quite honestly, I'm not certain about the Writing Center's official policy on helping students with application essays and so on--and I told him they might not be willing to help him--but they're a damned sight closer to what he's looking for than I am. I also told him they won't proofread for him--they're not an editorial service--but they can give him pointers for how to proofread more effectively himself. But it annoyed the snot out of me that he would consider any professor as existing simply to serve him. I don't think I was nasty, but he seemed startled and a bit miffed when I was firm in my refusal. I'd lash my tail and growl more, but ... enh. Not worth the energy.

It is, however, time to once again talk about how much I enjoy today's 102 class. I dragged my unhappy body over there with my enthusiasm at about ankle depth--and although I was a bit cranky at the start (dealing with the questions about what I'd been looking for in terms of a requirement on the second version, dealing with students who were missing papers entirely, or missing key bits), as soon as I started talking about the poetry, they got me amped up and having a blast. They were asking terrific questions about what poetry is supposed to do. I had used the analogy of poetry being like a painting: one does not talk about the point a painting makes, or the story it tells (though, actually, some sort of do), or whether one agrees with it. But then they asked whether paintings can be analyzed--not figurative paintings but, say, abstract impressionist works (yep, though not the same way a poem can be)--and whether it isn't simply that we see whatever we see (well, to a point, yes, but one can go astray).

I wasn't anticipating that eager desire to understand the role of art, of poetry in particular--and if I'd been prepared for it, I'd have been happy to talk to them more about what art is, what art is for (though I'm not sure anyone truly has a definitive answer to that). I love when I get a chance just to talk ideas with students, not herd them through a particular set of tasks. However, I did have to get them working on the first poem, and they did a great job on it (the correct one this time). It is--as I may have noted--extremely difficult to get students to back off from interpretation until they've carefully examined all the individual pieces. They always want to pole vault to conclusions without seeing what's beneath them, and invariably when they do, they end up pretty damned far from where the poem actually is going. But they listened and took it to heart when I reinforced with them that they needed to look at details first. And they were energetic and enthusiastic and actually thinking. I loved it.

And now we'll see how their reading journals look.

Oh, and another piece of good news: Bruce handled the situation with the problematic adjunct, had a very productive and positive meeting with him, so I don't need to fret about that. Whew. I am still struggling to try to palm off some of the observations that need to be done--as it is, I've got one observation each week between now and when I take off for Thanksgiving, and there are still three that need to be scheduled--but I'm hopeful that I can get rid of at least two of the three (especially the one at 8 a.m.). This is the kind of feet-clearing stuff I was handling earlier. Even though I'm not looking forward to the paperwork that goes with the observations, at least those particular pearls haven't fallen through the floor-boards.

But I need to let go of that kind of thinking or I'll get into a train of all the things I need to remember to do, those pearls bouncing around my feet from the snapped necklace (to mix a metaphor).... Once I get on that train, I get progressively manic (and somewhat panicky), so it's best I just take one thing at a time. I'm not going to go to dance class tonight. I'm not going to stay for the remainder of my evening office hour. I'm going to wrap up this blog post, pack up my troubles in my old kit bag (so to speak), and go home. Everyone, say it with me: "After all, tomorrow is another day."