...and then the building caught on fire.

Truly. The building where I had my first class today had a fire. Not the whole building, and it was out and everything back to normal by the time class started, but I really did wonder if I'm being told I should get the hell out of here while I can.

This is going to be a rough semester, starting out as it does with an enormous load of grief in my personal life. It's very hard to breathe, never mind think. And in fact, the day started with me realizing that all the work I did on schedules and so on was on my computer at home, not here in the office where I could print it. Shit. But I decided I'd feel better to duplicate the work and have the schedule ready to hand out to students today, so I did at least the schedule for today's classes. One day at a time. Tonight I'll either e-mail the stuff to myself or put it on my thumb drive.

I've spent a good deal of time just trying to make sure I have the handouts I need for the next few days: on my "To Do" list is to make a schedule of what I need to photocopy by when. I also spent a fair amount of time trying to clarify and codify the steps for revision for the first papers in the 102 classes. I hope it makes some kind of sense. Who the hell knows.

My first impression of my 102s matches Paul's. He covered for me last week, and he noted that the later section evidenced some whining and grumbling about the late paper policy--a clear indication that they're not ready for the rigors of a Prof. TLP class. Today, in the earlier section, although some students had not done the idea logs on the day's reading, they were mostly alert and responsive and ready to go. Granted a few hadn't read the story either--though most of the ones in that camp were brand new to the class. so I don't feel too concerned about them (yet).

But in the later section, only one student had done the log. One. And only about five had read the story. I went over a few things with them, trying to help them understand what I'm looking for in the logs, but without something concrete to work with, there wasn't anything we could do, so I sent them home and told them to have both stories for the week and both logs for class Wednesday. But at least four of them seem to be effectively switched off: no lights on behind the eyes. Ah well.

It will be interesting to meet with the Native American Lit class tomorrow. And it will be interesting to see if I can actually do this: prep, teach, handle my job at all. I did warn the students I may have to take off again--and if I need to go back to Montana, either for my own sanity or for my sister's, I will. I was thinking I'd wait for the February break, but maybe not.

Right now, it's about all I can do to breathe and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I'm actually somewhat amazed that I got anything at all organized today, not only because grieving short-circuits thinking but also because I'm running so short on sleep it's amazing I'm not collapsed in a heap somewhere.

And now I have to deal with some sad responsibilities. I'm the kind of person who, when faced with something difficult, generally would prefer to just do it and get it over than to postpone it. I charge and dive into cold water, rather than wading in slowly: the metaphor holds for the things I have to do now in my personal life.

I don't know how often I'll be posting this semester. Or how coherent I'll be. But here I am, trying to use work as a narcotic to dull the pain. Sort of works. Sort of.