Frantic and wild-eyed

I'm trying to do all the last everything all at once, which--to no one's vast surprise--isn't exactly working very well. Tomorrow, the most important thing for me to do is to sit down and carefully figure out the triage list. There are some large-ish bits to do (responding to/grading discussion board posts for the Nature in Lit students, in case they need any of my ideas for their final essays), and some that are just noodle-y bits (like making up the tally forms that make final calculations easier).

Poor Paul also had to get a snoot full of my venting about idiot students. The young woman in the SF class to whom I offered a "mercy D" didn't follow through--she submitted the hard copy of her essay but didn't upload it to Turnitin (and she, well, shall we say misrepresented how crucial my class is to her graduation; she indicated it's the only class she needs to graduate, but in fact she needs almost a full semester of other credits--and having to take a literature class just means she'll be able to get full-time status). I just emailed her to say that she's not going to get the D, and, in addition to running it past Paul, I also notified Cathy (as there's a chance the student will howl about it). One of the students in the 101 class submitted a bunch of stuff with his final essay that I didn't need--but did not submit a clean printout of the final version, which I do. Another student in that class submitted the upload to Turnitin but didn't show up with any of the other bits. I've informed them both that, if they don't get those pieces to me by tomorrow morning (when the Department meeting begins), they'll fail the class. Paul had to hear me ranting about all of that.

I am very clearly out of patience with the students in that class. When I got there, two of them had already left their essays on the desk. I asked them if they had all the pieces in order. One--one of the two who will likely pass--said yes, he'd checked. The other shrugged. I said to him, "Do you give a shit?" He almost shrugged again, but then he said he'd done his best. No, he hasn't--because he does not, in fact, give a shit--and he and I both know that, but whatever. I'll let him be an immature little asshole until the world kicks him around enough that he starts to realize not only that he has some responsibility to at least make a pretense of trying but also that he actually has some agency over how things happen in his life.

In a tangential move from that, one of our colleagues recently shared a little piece with us that seemed right on the money to me, about the little secrets to what makes professors tick. One of the items was "If you look enthusiastic and positive about the class, we’ll think well of you, no matter how much or little actual work you put into the class." Very true. Of course, that we think well of you doesn't necessarily mean you'll get a good grade, but it will certainly give you the benefit of the doubt if there's a doubt in there anywhere.

(The whole piece is worth a read: https://www.quora.com/What-do-your-college-professors-not-want-you-to-know/answer/Svetlana-Miller?share=b0a9931b&srid=J1a6)

I'm sure there's more I probably could record about today. Advisement was relatively busy (though I did get a little work done for the Nature in Lit class); Cathy and I finished the scheduling--until people start declining things or things don't run; and no matter what, by this time next week, I'll be doing final crunching of numbers and getting all the paperwork pulled together to submit. And Paul and I have a date for dinner and a much needed alcoholic beverage.

Meanwhile, I will heave a lot of heavy sighs--and stumble onward into the evening.  It's a good life. I keep telling myself that. It's a good life. And the semester is almost over.