Falling over--but one class down (for now)

I managed to get all the work marked for tomorrow's class--though I've stopped collecting new work until I get their final essays. I finished the last one at about 8:45 p.m., and I have no idea how I managed to have the brain to do it, as I had another night of insomnia last night. I think I've just worked up enough adrenaline from anxiety to be able to push through.

I have fifteen to mark for the T/Th class. That's about five hours of work. I don't think I can get it all done tomorrow, even bailing on Advisement (again), but if I also bail on the make-up time I'm supposed to put in on Thursday in Advisement, I can probably do it. I feel guilty about missing the Advisement time, as I know it's pretty busy there these days--but then again, I've always resented having to be there up to the last day of the semester, so this is my retirement raspberry to that.

Today in the 102, I had to inform a student that because he didn't fully fix the plagiarism in his essay--and moreover didn't revise at all--he will fail the class unless he withdraws. I told him I will let him withdraw, and now I'm wishing I hadn't, as he was absolutely pissy about it: "This class was a fucking waste" he said as he stormed out the door. Then I got an acre of snotty attitude from the daughter (I can't remember what I've been calling her): she kept saying, "I'm good at writing essays," and I kept saying, "Yes, you are: a B is a good grade." But not good enough for her. She kept saying she didn't understand why she was "getting points off," and I was too tired--and honestly, too pissed off--to explain that she wasn't getting points taken off; she wasn't earning them. I wish I had told her to look at the check list, which clearly states what is needed to exceed expectations--which is what's required for an A--but again, I didn't think of it at the time. I was starting to seethe, and I came very close to saying some things that would have been inappropriate (like, "I'm fucking sick of getting this kind of attitude from students who think they're better than they are; this is why I'm fucking glad to retire. It's students like you who make me hate this fucking job"--which clearly would have been counter-productive, to say the least). So I just was silent. Her mother then tried to make nice with me to talk about the novel itself, but I just wasn't in the mood. Yes: it's a downer of a book. It's still excellent.

But interestingly enough, by the time I got to P&B, I stopped feeling the outrage. And even now, writing about it, I don't feel the outrage. I just feel glad that moment is over.

Now, however, I really do need to get the hell home. I'm doing dreadful things to my body in terms of lack of sleep and bad food choices made in desperation, so I need to try to mitigate at least a smidge of that tonight. And tomorrow, unless a genuine disaster arises, I am, by God, going out to dinner with the gang. Steak and booze and to hell with the consequences, to my waistline, digestive system, or sleep.

So, until tomorrow.