Attack of the "shoulds"

I had to leave Advisement early to take one of my cats to the vet, and I very conscientiously brought work home with me, as I'd planned to put in a good chunk of time in my office this afternoon and early evening. Now that I'm home, however, and my cat working off her frustrations at the indignities she has suffered, I find I simply can't face any of the grading. Not even one little piece. I'm done. Stick a fork in me.

Of course, this means I probably should get up an hour earlier than usual tomorrow--but I don't think I'll do that, either. One way or another, I'll get the first versions of 102 final papers marked, and if the gods smile (as they sometimes do), I'll also knock off the rest of the second papers that I have in hand (I may get one or two more, but that's it). Then all I'll have to do over the weekend is grade second essays for the Short Story class--which will be enough, dammit, as I also have social events on my calendar that I refuse to miss.

Class today was fine; the students started out saying the story du jour (John Crowley's "Gone") was "weird," but when we started talking about it, they got to the meat of it pretty well. The senior observer said it was almost like a sermon in the form of a story--and in terms of what it conveys, he's nearly right. (It's also simply a beautifully written story; Crowley can be a bit too much sometimes, but I'm a fan.)

I'm not sure how many students I actually have left, but I think it's thirteen (though I rarely have all thirteen in the room at once). That's not counting the senior observer--who also was very complimentary today as he left class, telling me that it's been a privilege to be in the class. (Thank you. I'm honored.) I'm glad I have that many left; it's still an insanely huge attrition rate, but it's better than some semesters. In the 102s, a few more have fallen by the wayside--including one who by all rights should have been this semester's Wonder Student. He's still coming to class, but he's stopped turning in work. I need to talk to him.

Two nice moments I want to record, one from yesterday, one from today. Yesterday, as I was leaving my last class, a colleague called to me in the hall and told me that he'd seen my e-mail asking people to tout Native American Lit for me--and that he thought his 102 class had some good candidates. I've been chatting with his students as I pack up to leave and they come in, so when I made the pitch, several of them immediately wrote it down with great interest. I thought that was very nice of him--and it was nice to see that those students respond well to me simply because I'm friendly with them. (I still have only seven registered for it--but it's early days yet, or so I tell myself.)

Today's nice moment came in the form of an e-mail from the student who had braided himself trying to avoid admitting that he'd been irresponsible. He wrote to say he'd forgotten to thank me for allowing him to withdraw, that he thought I am an "awesome" professor, one of the only serious professors at NCC--and that he was learning a lesson: that it's time to grow up. He thanked me for that, too. Nice. It took him a while, but it's a good realization for him to have had. It probably won't stick just yet, but that's OK. At least the seed has been planted.

It was interesting, yesterday, to talk to my students about the process of writing--all over again, as if it were the first time. After our discussion of the novel, they were saying they were probably going to have to change their theses. Yes, I said: that's the process. You have to throw out a lot of crap ideas before you find the one that will fly. That's just how it works. They looked a little as if I had told them there really is no Santa Claus, but I think they've had enough lived experience of revision now to begin to believe I'm right. (I'm right.)

After class, the Poor Dear Thing ran through her song and dance with me again, first protesting that I kept saying she was misreading the novel but she didn't think she was. I said if she did understand, then she needs to work on expressing what she understands, because it sure looks like she doesn't get it--and I think I'd be the better judge of whether her understanding is accurate. But the conversation then turned into a lecture about her negative self-talk, and about self-fulfilling prophecies, and how she is undermining her chances of success before she even tries by telling herself how stupid she is and that she'll never make it. As she left, she called down the hall, "I love you, Professor!" OK. Thanks.

It feels strange to be blogging from home instead of from the office--and my kitchen is calling to me (the meal I've been meaning to cook for ages singing siren songs, "O, chop onions! O, saute eggplant!"). Enough for now. I may not post tomorrow; I have another observation immediately after my last class and probably will just hop in the car and head home after. I'm just explaining because I know you worry.