Wait, you mean I have to come back tomorrow?

I got all the papers graded--I don't quite know how--and even had enough time to eat a leisurely lunch and read a bit before class. But I am so fried by the experience (and the lack of sleep last night) that I keep blissfully forgetting that I have to come to work tomorrow. Granted, I have to be here for my office hour and one class, that's all, but just the fact that I have to be here at all seems grotesquely unfair.

I'm going to have a parade of students during my office hour, too--if everyone shows up who said he or she would. That's actually fine, more fun than marking the few assignments I have in hand, and better for maintaining a high energy level than reading (my concentration being pretty well shot even when I've had enough sleep).

I realized today that I have a very different demeanor with the two 102 classes. With the earlier one I'm a little more nurturing yet serious; the the later, I'm yokking around--landing the punches but with humor. And I'm very pleased to announce that one of the students in that later group got a well-deserved A- on the first version of his paper. He's still taking the revision seriously: there isn't anything profound to fix, but he's striving for that A+. He may just make it. The young woman who was upset because I won't let her be touchy-feely any more was there today, working at it diligently and with a lovely, positive attitude. In fact, everyone was there in the later class (well, everyone who is left); there were some absentees in the earlier one--but I think they're absent permanently. Among them was Mr. "Please, Miss," who was always trying to get me to make exceptions just for him. No paper. Big zero. Five absences. He can "Please, Miss" all he wants; he just blew his chances of passing--and I hate to admit that I feel a sort of grim satisfaction about that. The young man who tries to warm-fuzzy his way out of having to do things ("It's too hard," "My feelings are hurt," "You'd help us out if you made it easier") had missed the first go-round but was there today--and trying to find a quick and easy way to revise. Ain't none, son. Revision is ten years in the salt mines. Deal with it.

In the earlier class, I was pleased that a student who had resisted the entire notion of revision on his first paper seems to be taking it more seriously this time. He even called me over to ask some questions--not about anything very substantive, but still, it's a step in the right direction.

I really like that part of this process. They get their papers back with my typed comments and red pen (I try to keep that to a minimum but I am utterly fucking compulsive about marking stuff, which is why it takes me forever to get through even a few papers). They read my comments, and then I say, "If you have a 'See me," call me over." The "see me" comments are the ones where I need to explain something that is specific to a line or two (not the whole paper) but that is too complex or potentially confusing to try to write up in comments. Usually there is silence for a minute, and then a hand will go up. As soon as one student goes for it, then hands are flying all over, I'm being asked for, students are giving each other a hard time about who gets my attention first--and one can all but smell the brains at work. One young woman in the earlier class is really struggling: she's used to getting good grades without having to exert herself, and suddenly her grades have taken a nose dive. She called me over with a bit of an attitude, and after talking to her for a minute, I said, quietly, "I can tell you're frustrated." Yes, she admitted, and I could tell that she was close to tears. "What can I do to help?" I asked, and she calmed down, said she just was confused--and I reassured her: "You have the ideas. They're there; you just have to pull them out and focus on them. This is a very particular kind of writing, and it has very specific rules. They're a pain in the ass, but they're how this kind of writing is done." She seemed somewhat comforted, at least briefly--but then it turns out that she is friends with a student in the other class; when I found that out, I said to the friend, "She's very frustrated; she's mad at me right now," and the friend said a big, heartfelt, "Yeah." I'll help. I will--as much as I can. But they have to do the heavy lifting. I've been promised a deluge of e-mails over the break. Fine by me.

Shifting gears to something that is giddy good news: Usually, after our schedules for the upcoming semester are distributed, it turns out that there are some electives that are unassigned, and Bruce throws them up for grabs. I was sure that someone else would have grabbed it before me, but I thought, "What the hell," and asked to swap out a 102 for Fiction Writing. And I got it. Two electives, folks, and one of them a creative writing class, which has limited enrollment to start with. Of course, they're both brand new to me, so I'm going to spend a lot of time starting a few weeks ago getting ideas so I can invent lessons and schedules and that sort of thing. But if I'm chosen for Advisement again (and I may not be, as I have been absent a lot this semester), I'll have three classes--and only one comp. It's like choirs of angels are singing and God rays are shining on me. I'm jazzed. Very super ultra nifty.

Seems like there was something else I was going to say, but damned if I can remember what it was. Apparently the adrenaline of teaching is wearing off, and the engines are starting to sputter and stall. I'd best get out of here before the rough landing.