Derailed

Jesus, this is just the semester from hell. Appendicidis, hurricane, and now a critically ill cat. I had to cancel class (and bail on Advisement) yesterday to rush her to the vet, lots of sturm und drang, got home mid-day, and collapsed. Fortunately, I didn't leave a ton of student work in the office, so I was able to be home and essentially senseless without washing about in waves of guilt. I could have worked on that editing job for my colleague, but nah. Maybe this weekend.

Everything is in tumult at the moment: my personal life is as bouleversee as my professional life. My promotion mentees have been very gracious about waiting (interminably) for feedback on their folders (which, fortunately, are not due to the college-wide committee until March). I have yet to start adjunct scheduling, which I intended to start two weeks ago. The broken strand of pearls analogy no longer works: I feel like a very inept plate-spinner. (Cue sound effect of smashing crockery.)

Because of the need to cancel yesterday's class, I am now trying to figure out what to do about the second version of papers for the Short Story students. One solution--which I do not like at all--is to collect the second versions tomorrow, grade them over the weekend, return them on Monday, and reschedule the final paper so it is due the last day of that class. I dislike that option for two reasons: one, it means I'd have to read and respond to papers over the weekend (which is more of a psychological problem than anything). Two, it means I'd have to madly read papers and crunch numbers the final day of my semester instead of being essentially finished. The only other option I can figure is to collect the papers and return them to students later in the day tomorrow or on Thursday, depending on when each student would be able to retrieve his or her assignment. I like that option better, even though it means a rather hellish stint tomorrow afternoon into Thursday morning. Not only would that solution bring an earlier end to the "I have to comment in ways that make sense" thing, I can sell it to the students as giving them more time to complete their papers once they get comments back from me: the whole weekend, not just a day and a half. I think I just sold myself on that option. Whew.

Today, the 102 students were still struggling: weirdly, the theses that they managed to pull out of their asses last class evaporated over the intervening days, so we spent a lot of time clarifying those theses again. And I almost had to have a show-out in the hall with one student in the later class: he kept insisting that he was making the argument I asked him to, and that his misreads of points in the book were correct, and that the slender thread he picked up on was sufficient to support his paper. I kept saying, "I'm trying to help you," and "You may think it's working, but if I tell you it isn't...." At one point he said, "I'm just going to write my paper the way I think  I should," and I got up and walked away from him. He tried to call me back, but I said, "If you're not going to listen to me, what can I do? Go ahead; write your paper the way you want." I knew, even as we were wrangling about it, that his reactions were defensive: he was confused, scared, and didn't want to let go of the life-raft of the familiar--even though it was wrong. I helped some other students (while we both cooled down), and then I went back to him, saying that perhaps the way I'd phrased the question was throwing him off. I asked him some very leading questions, then wrote down a version of his answer and showed it to him. He saw what I meant, and that it was, in fact, a thesis he could argue. I said that unfortunately, some of the ideas he loves so much may not work with that idea--but it's where he needs to go with the paper. He pretty much has to start from scratch (and overall he's in serious trouble anyway, because of missing work), but we'll see. I'm hoping I can legitimately give him a C for the class, but I'm dubious.

After I'd wrestled him to the ground, Poor Dear Thing chimed in saying she doesn't want to get help through e-mails because I'm so mean. I said that the two of them could have a party, sit down over coffee and commiserate over what a bitch from hell I am. Mr. I'll Do It My Way said no, on the contrary, my class is his favorite. Yeah, I'm not so sure I believe that, but OK. Poor Dear Thing had to admit that she is interpreting sarcasm and put-downs in what are, in fact, genuine answers to her questions. I love that class, but man, I wanted to throw the two of them out the window. And not open it first.

One of the students who should still finish the course (and could, potentially, get a decent grade--if I ignore his lousy attendance) was not there today. I deeply hope he shows up with that final paper on Friday. If he does, that means I'll have seven students remaining in that class; the Would Be Wonder Student withdrew, saying he'll see me next semester. (OK, if you're sure that's the best thing for you.) At least one other student needs to bring the official withdrawal form--or he'll get an Unofficial Withdrawal (a new policy this semester; it has the same effect on the GPA as an F). I am not sure how many students are left in the earlier class: could be only 8, or it could be 10 (or 9). I'll know more on Thursday.

I'm sure there is more I could complain about, but obviously it isn't anything all that urgent. Short version: I'm overwhelmed. Welcome to end of semester. I am, however, absurdly proud that I got everything for tomorrow's class marked and ready to return. It wasn't much, but when I left class today, I wasn't sure I'd be able even to blog, never mind do any productive work. Getting even that little bit done feels like a triumph. But now, I'm tired, and I have a cat to medicate. Speaking of medication, I may stop at the liquor store on the way home....