I am toast.

Having just taught Oryx and Crake, I of course think of the moment when Jimmy/Snowman tries to explain to the new genetically modified humans in his charge what toast is:

"Toast was a pointless invention from the Dark Ages. Toast was an implement of torture that caused all those subjected to it to regurgitate in verbal form the sins and crimes of their past lives. Toast was a ritual item devoured by fetishists in the belief that it would enhance their kinetic and sexual powers. Toast cannot be explained by any rational means.

"Toast is me.

"I am toast." (98)

But I am toast, over-done toast at that: a bit burned around the edges, and so crunchy as to fall to bits. There is no real explanation for this state of affairs, except, well, it's two weeks before the last day of the semester; I am among the millions of Americans (and perhaps all teachers) who are sleep deprived; there is work I have yet to do that I absolutely, utterly do not want to do.

I didn't do much today. I conferenced with a few students, met with the SF class (which now follows the routine of three students asking good questions and making intelligent comments while the others stare into space, stare at their desks, or fall asleep), did a little photocopying, read a bit of Left Hand of Darkness (just to have it fresh in my mind--and because I still absolutely love it) and made some notes for the online Nature in Lit (which I'll still try to pull together, in hope that it might run), put up some fliers about the class. That sounds pretty active, but it adds up to nothing much.

I certainly didn't grade any of those thirteen essays that I need to mark, nor did I do the editing review check sheet for the ones I already graded. I had a serious Scarlett O'Hara moment over even the thought: nope, I'll think about that tomorrow.

I think I have the pack ready for Monday morning. I think I have the things I'll need to work on over the weekend in my "schlep home" tote bag.

I think I'm pretty well out the door. I need to water the office plants and bundle up (it's actually a seasonable temperature out there). If I'm forgetting anything, it will just have to be forgotten until, well, whenever.

I will depart, leaving a trail of crumbs behind me no doubt.