Much is explained

I'm posting fast, as I have to get out of here to a doctor's appointment--but in the SF class today, the Budding Literary Critic, who has been pretty silent for a while, suddenly spoke up, and man, did he go to an extreme. He hates the characters in Le Guin's novel, all of them, thinks they should die, because they don't understand that schizophrenia needs to be treated, as otherwise it's dangerous, and because of their attitude toward suicide (which they consider the worst possible crime--worse even than murder). In his rant, he said that when he was hospitalized, he saw someone get badly beaten by another patient with schizophrenia ... and I thought, "Ah. I get it." I don't know what his particular illness was, but the fact that he's had to deal with something profound enough to warrant a stay in the hospital explains his contradictory reactions: one minute, smiling in agreement; the next, only able to see the negative and ranting about it.

And his rant sure woke up some of the students who had been close to drifting off to sleep at that point. So: thanks to him.

I met after class with Gaston and Alphonse; Gaston wanted to talk about his final essay, and Alphonse about the revision of his second essay. Both needed to get a sense of focus for their ideas, which they both seemed to get through answering my questions and responding to my comments. (And to Alphonse, after he'd explained his writing process, I said that what he was doing wasn't writing an essay: it was brainstorming, and he needs to build time into his process so he can brainstorm and then go back over it and revise to create an actual focus.)

That's the good part of the day. The morning was chaotic in the extreme, as I had to deal with getting a rental car (my car in the driveway, waiting for me to have time to drive it to the shop--slowly with its muffler dragging on the ground), getting to the rental car place (long story), getting to an eye doctor appointment--and having to tell them that I was going to have to leave without seeing the doctor (at which point they hustled me into an exam room and apparently lassoed the doctor, dragged him away from something else, and shoved him in the room with me). And on it goes.

I'm taking home the 101 essays for the students who want comments. They may just sit in the tote bag, untouched, until I drag them back here on Monday. I'm making no promises to myself about getting anything at all done over the weekend, except some life maintenance--and a little bit of time recharging my mental batteries before I dive head first into final grading.

So, more ... well, whenever. It's all just a chair of bowlies.