It feels later than it is

Part of the "it feels so late" thing is because today has been a very grey day, and now that the sun is setting earlier, the combined factors make it seem awfully dark for this time of day. But the other part is ... gawd, it was a long day. What a slog. And, of course, not enough sleep, which is the chronic condition.

Most of my day was spent in conferences--pretty much back to back to back--interspersed with  moments on the computer trying to stay on top of other bits and orts and, of course, the 102. Class wasn't the most scintillating: students straggled in late and in a sad return to what things were like earlier in the semester, when I shifted from small group discussion to class as a whole, they suddenly went silent. Mom of the mother-daughter duo could easily have filled the silence--she always has a lot to say--but she is very rightly refusing to take on the burden. And a couple of other students did, eventually, step into the breach. I end up calling on students more than I normally would--but not to put them on the spot. I'll say, "Whoosie, you brought up a good point in your group. Could you riff on that a little for the class?" And the student, usually cheerfully, complies. In any event, they're doing their damndest.

I did, however, verbally smack the crap out of the Hot Mess. He asked again if I could provide him with another copy of his class reader, as his is a mess of papers somewhere. This after I observed that he did not have his reader and that, therefore, today would count as a "non-participant" day for him. I said I'd talk to him after class, and I said, "I am disinclined to clean up your mess." I explained that it's his job to take care of his class materials--and further, since he'd shown a blatant disrespect for my time and energy with his dismissal of any of the requirements for the second version of his essay, I was even less inclined to help him out. I told him he needs to come to class with evidence of an effort: his reader pulled together, his homework done, ready and on top of things. If I see that, I'll revisit the issue of the reader with him. If not, I'm not sure I even want him in my class. He seemed stunned. He said, "I understand," but then he stood there, as if something else was coming. (Dispensation? Pity?) I said, "That's it. I'm done. You can go." Pause, while he still stared at me, pole-axed. "Oh, OK," he finally said, and left--but even then he hovered outside the door for a moment, as if something else was going to happen. I almost expected him to be waiting for me with tears in his eyes when I finished talking with the other students who had been waiting for me to finish with him before bringing up their concerns, but no: he was gone. I'm curious to see what happens next. I do think he probably was deeply hurt by my sternness and inflexibility; he may well have gone somewhere to cry. I do understand that he may be wounded, and I am sorry if he's hurting, but not sorry enough to budge a whisker. Pull it together, son, or get out of my hair.

In terms of students who need to pull themselves together, a student from the T/Th 101 surprised me by showing up for his conference--and he wasn't even aware that he had completely missed the deadline for the essay. It's clear that there is something going on in his life having nothing to do with his capability as a student, so I let him know about the "excused withdrawal" option (present evidence of something significant that's interfering with classes to the Dean of Students, get her permission for the "excused withdrawal," withdraw from all classes, and the semester is wiped from the records so there's a clean slate when the student returns). I told him that my advice would be that he withdraw, but he needs to decide what will be more stressful to him: withdrawing and dealing with the repercussions of that, or not withdrawing and trying to gut it out, knowing he can't get the kind of grade he otherwise might get. At one point he said, "I don't like being this person." I said, "This isn't about who you are: this is about what you're going through. Your struggle now is not the person you are; it's just the situation." I also told him I'd support whatever decision he makes. I hope he can find the help he needs. He's clearly very bright and well read, but I could see the anguish on his face.

These students live such incredibly difficult, painful lives much of the time. The people who make snarky comments about the fact that they don't graduate "on time"--or who judge them for not graduating at all--are completely full of shit. If they saw the raw courage that so many of these young people exhibit just getting to campus and being in class ... well, I hope they'd think again about those judgments.

Breathing. Moving on.

I want to take a little time now to sort through those ridiculously precarious and chaotic piles of god knows what on my desk and on the radiator, and get things organized so I can grab stuff and go when I come in on Monday, as I'll be heading straight from Advisement to class and almost certainly won't get here in time to do a leisurely sort through before going to Advisement. I know I won't get things as tidy as I'd like, but anything is better than the current clutter. And then, I'll be schlepping home my wheelie pack filled to bursting with stuff I need to mark. No matter what, I will, by God, get the stuff marked for the T/Th 101, as they've been getting short shrift all semester, and it's past time for them to come first for a change. I knew when the semester started that I'd be working over the weekends, but I'd rather forgotten how hard it is to keep finding the energy to do that, when all my systems are saying, "It's time for me to loll about being merely ornamental, right?" Nope. Sorry. Nose, grindstone, get to it. Ma'am yes ma'am. But not tonight. Tonight I am toast. Toast is me. (Thank you Margaret Atwood for the lovely humorous memory of that whole riff in Oryx and Crake.)