The Teacher's Headache and the Grief Drain

I was utterly incapacitated yesterday by the teacher's headache. Apparently it is very common for teachers (at all levels, including the professorial) to get headaches on the weekend: once all the neck and shoulder tension from the week starts to let go and the blood vessels in the head dilate again--pow. Good thing I'd already canceled my ride, but I didn't even manage to get to the drug store to pick up a prescription that had been sitting there all week--never mind get any work done. In addition to that, I think the headache was occasioned by the fact that all week I've been fighting the powerful pull of the grief drain: it feels like my father's death in July created an enormous open drain somewhere in my psyche, and my mental and physical energy, my focus, my organizational abilities (always minimal at best) run down into that hole and disappear. I am not generally aware of grieving; it just goes on at that subterranean level, draining away, but this past week there were several mornings when--if I hadn't been on my way to work--I would have just sat down in the hall and cried. I did cry a while in the car on the drive to campus one morning, and I suspect that at some point I will get sucked down that drain entirely (if momentarily) and will have to give in to it.

But not yet. I am still able to distract myself with work. So, the pack full of papers that I lugged home on Thursday I lugged back to the office today (got that prescription first, in case I leave here too tired to do anything other than head home). I have gotten a fair number of papers graded--and again, I'm trying not to think about what remains but just to focus on what I've accomplished. Tonight I'm going to be sane about what I take home. Why schlep the reading journals and style guide review sheets back and forth when I know full well I won't get to them until next weekend at the earliest?

Going through paper submissions, I realize that five students (of the 11 no-shows) in my KC class still have not turned up: no paper, not in class on Thursday so didn't sign up for a conference time, no e-mail, no phone calls, nada. I got a notice that one of those five went to the Writing Center, but I still haven't heard boo from him. (I'm betting he comes by to sign up for a conference and is surprised when I won't accept his paper a week late.) Four of the 11 turned in papers on Thursday or via e-mail yesterday (for a few, "papers" is using the term loosely, but at least they waved vaguely in that direction). One young woman was in class on Thursday and signed up for a conference, but I have no paper from her: I'm taking bets with myself that she'll come by thinking she's going to pick up her graded paper and she'll ask me in a panic where it is: "Didn't you get my e-mail?" No matter how many times I tell them that A) they have to ask for permission before e-mailing a paper and B) once they have, it's their responsibility to check to be sure I got it and can open it, I always get a handful who simply (metaphorically) toss the paper into cyberspace and figure they've done their job. Of course, the up-side to the unsubmitted papers is that I have six fewer to grade: that's almost 3 hours of my time The down side is, dammit, I hate losing students over the first paper. I wish they'd at least take a stab at it. But I guess it's better for them (and for me) if they bail now rather than later. Still, it bugs me.

Some of the students are also getting a pretty violent wake-up call: they are suddenly getting slapped with the awareness that the practices they got used to in high school aren't going to fly any more. A number of them are getting papers back with the dreaded F. (Slap!) A number more are getting papers with grades much lower than I know they expect. (Slap!) A small handful essentially ignored the essay instructions and everything I said in class and simply wrote the same kind of personal response they're used to. (Slap!) Mr. Monkey Skulls was at least respectful enough to make some sort of attempt to treat the readings like they have merit, but what he considers an essay is what colleague Duane would call "playing with his own poop." It's just stream of consciousness, off the top of his head, completely unstructured and unconsidered bilge: the stuff that's washing around in what passes for his mind that he's siphoned off onto the page. (OK, I'm mixing metaphors and imagery: bilge would come from below decks, not off the top of his head or out of his ass. Come to think of it, he does seem to be talking out of his ass....)

Being the professional that I am (or try to be), I was set to comment on his paper the way I would normally, explaining what he needs to fix, think about, and why... and then I realized I couldn't do it. I can't respond academically to a paper that does not have a single requirement of academic writing. So in the margin of the first page I said that I'd respond in depth when I got an academic paper from him, and then I wrote a rather lengthy comment on the grade check sheet, explaining that the way he likes to write is one style; he does that well, but he needs to learn the style I can teach him so he has two to draw upon. He doesn't have to give up the style he prefers; he just has to learn when it is (or, more to the point, is not) appropriate. If he learns academic writing, he'll have added to his arsenal of approaches instead of having no choice but always to write one way. If he doesn't, in situations in which that way is incorrect, he'll have no choice but to fail. Which his paper did. (Slap slap slap, albeit couched in diplomatic language.) I don't know how this is going to play out, but I'm over being pissed off with him (for now: he may hit the launch button again in our conference). His arrogance and ignorance go hand in hand with his immaturity and lack of experience. He'll learn. Even if not from me this semester, he will learn.

I embarked on this post hoping it would provide a brain break and I'd be able to grade one or two more papers, but I'm cooked (and the headache has been lurking all day. Thank God for Excedrin: better living through pharmaceuticals.) If I get a burst of energy (or anxiety), I may write up an observation later at home, but no more grading tonight. I'll have to get in a pretty good whack tomorrow and probably burn the midnight (and 5 a.m.) oil through yet another week to do what I said I'd do (i.e., have the papers for Thursday on my door by Wednesday at 10 a.m.). After that, if I can't get caught up on other homework (still in a steaming pile here) by the 19th/20th, I'm going to stop assigning anything for a while. Homework has its uses, but only if I can evaluate it or at least go over it with them; otherwise it's merely busy work, not pedagogically productive.

Oh, promotion folder did you say? Yes, well, I think I have figured out how to reconfigure the 101 syllabi so that I can cancel classes a day or two (probably two) so I can hash that out--and fortunately, I don't have to have it absolutely complete on the 26th, just a first draft. But of course, the more complete the draft, the better for me across the next month(s). Happy freaking birthday--though as P&B members pointed out, if I have to turn the draft in on my birthday, it will at least temporarily be out of my hair and I'll be able to go out that night and tie one on. I'm not that kind of drinker (or much of a drinker at all, despite the talk), but I suspect I will, in fact, do something wildly indulgent as a double celebration. Paul, me, and one of the real-deal, top-notch steak houses on Cholesterol Alley, I reckon.

I think there was something else, but it's gone now. (No, not that I'm radioactive; something else.) Ah well, it's not as if my posts aren't long enough.

TGIT

Ostensibly the end of my work-week today, as I have no classes again until Monday. Those who are in the educational trenches--or who are following this blog--know that a common and profound misconception is the idea that classes are the sum total of what we do--or even the biggest consumer of our time. Hah! In order to bring home all the assignments I have to mark, plus the two observations that I have to write up, plus the draft promo folder that I need to review, I had to load up my big wheeled backpack. (When I first mentioned to my friend Szilvia that I wanted such a pack, I inadvertently said I wanted one with wings. Wouldn't that be great? The visual image alone is worth conjuring up.) I generally only use the big pack around campus, when I have to schlep assignments and textbooks (plus my water bottles), but the canvas bag I usually carry stuff home in simply couldn't hold it all. I rather wish I had a scale: I'd be curious to find out how much all that paper weighs. Maybe, just for amusement's sake, I'll take a ruler to it and find out how high the stack is... if it doesn't spontaneously combust first.

But since it is Thursday, and since I don't have to get up early tomorrow (monumental sigh of relief), I decided to spoil myself. Despite the less than optimal effects on my finances (not to mention my waistline), I took myself out to one of my favorite restaurants. It's a little place here in Port, and they've known me by name since my third visit (and after my first, remembered that I have to avoid wheat, though they are a still a little confused about why: not allergies, dear ones, celiac--not that it really matters). When I treat myself to Bistro Toulouse, I sit at the teeny bar, have a drink and a spectacular dinner, read my book, chat with them if something occurs to any of us--and feel blissfully spoiled, pampered to the hilt. Now that I'm home and life maintenance stuff is attended to, I'm somewhere between madly wound up and idiotically exhausted. It will probably take a while before the exhausted part takes over (but when it does, people in China may feel the reverberations from the crash).

Despite the 8:30 a.m. meeting (ungodly early for me), I feel pretty good about the day as a whole. I got the papers marked that I needed to; I even squeezed in a little time to spend with a few friends, first venting about how it seems the same people (i.e., us) always seem to do all the work no matter what committees we're on, then telling amusing anecdotes about our lives in general. As I suspected yesterday, I was disappointed with how I handled the revision/works-cited lesson with the first of my 101s today; I did better with the second, but still not as well as I feel like I did yesterday. Even so, I think both sections got what they needed, even if not with the same clarity and impact as yesterday' class.

The RB section is still my favorite. The student who had to leave on Tuesday showed up today with paper in hand--he was late (not to mention the late penalty on the paper), but still, he was there, so maybe the turn around is still happening, albeit slowly. As I was lecturing, I did have to ask them to zip it several times: two young men in particular were chatting, not intending to be rude or not to listen, but unaware that their chat was distracting. That sort of thing slowed the lesson down, but I still just have fun with these guys.

The other two sections also had previously seen an in-progress draft of a chapter from my dissertation, which I show them to demonstrate that writers of any level struggle to get ideas clear and have to revise, rethink, edit, and I finally got a chance to show the same pages to RB. Students are always fascinated. (I usually pass it around, but I didn't have time with RB. It is fun when I can let them look at it up close, interesting to see what they notice and are curious about.) But RB is the first of the sections to actually see the finished diss in its small-format, paperbound form. (It's more impressive in the full-size hard-cover version, but that's too heavy to lug around.) I'll share it with the other sections later: they think it's cool and it's another way to let them get a glimpse under the hood. But the RB students are the first I have ever told about the emotional aspects of the dissertation process. Students always ask how long it took (answer: because I got a grant--from the National Bank of Dad, though I don't tell them that part--and leave from my job, first draft took 3 months; revising took the next year). No one has ever asked before if I had any help or feedback, but one of my students today did (answer, I had to do the work and research, but I did have an advisor who kept saying, in essence, "You've built a very nice house here. Now just park this 747 in the middle of it and make a seamless transition from one to the other").

And because I told them that part of it, and how frustrating and difficult it was to keep having to stretch and add and rethink and do more research and figure out how to make it fit, I also told them the story of my final meeting with my advisor. I had given her one more version that I thought was final (which I'd done about 15 times before), and she started to say, "OK, good, now all you have to do is..." Tears puddled up in my eyes, and I said, "Joan, I will do whatever you tell me I have to do, but you will have to tell me exactly what to say, because nothing else is coming out of my brain." To which she replied, quite cheerfully, "Oh! Well, in that case, you're done." The students laughed--and on that note, class ended. Nice end to the class, and to the teaching part of the week as well. So I'm letting that glow linger a bit. I'm not thinking about what I want/need to do over the next three days. Tonight, I will act as if I have zero responsibilities and nothing looming. And Friday through Sunday, each day, each hour, I will prioritize as it happens. And somehow it will all get done. (The refrain: How will it? It just will. It's a mystery.)

Don't think my eyes are functioning well enough to do any reading at this point (though Barnaby Rudge is coming along nicely), so I'll probably watch something on DVD... and then to bed.

The Observer and The Observed

First thing today was my observation of one of our "newbies," Matt. All new hires have to be observed in their first year of appointment by a member of P&B and by the chair--and I think by the dean as well. I also have to observe a colleague who is going up for full professor (I need to check my calendar to remember when the blazes we scheduled that--and to be sure I'm not forgetting someone). Matt's class was great: he's wicked smart, and I am already ripping off some of his language and approach to the thorny problem of thesis statements. I was, somewhat unfortunately, observing a section of retiring and hesitant students; clearly there were a few sharp cookies in the bunch, but Matt had to let some of the silences hang for quite some time before a student would even make eye contact long enough for Matt to encourage a response. Yet he did a great job pulling those teeth (as it were). I like that he didn't pounce on anyone who seemed dazed and confused. (I don't think trapping students in their unpreparedness is helpful; I think it merely scares everyone into silence. I know some believe it keeps students on their toes, but I feel that is more a "fight or flight" reaction than genuine attentiveness.) The funny thing is, I was enjoying the fact that Matt was completely comfortable and confident during the observation--until near the end of the lesson I suddenly thought, "I wonder if he's nervous." I have no idea why the idea popped into my head, but it turns out he was nervous. Yet despite that random thought, seriously, I'd never have known if he hadn't fessed up. He seemed every millimeter the confident, relaxed master of his subject and his classroom.

I must say I find it fascinating to watch other professors do their thing. Some pedagogical approaches resonate more strongly with me than others, but even when I am uncomfortable with a colleague's tactics, I am fascinated.

Oddly, I was not in the least nervous about Bruce observing my class, even though the students were desperately struggling not only with the reading but also with my study questions--which, in retrospect, I can see were phrased as if the kids were grad students, not the sophomores they are. I am simply unbearably awful at a) being concise (no shit) and 2) translating from my language into theirs. But the students were terrific: they started talking to me about their concerns the instant I walked in. I engaged in the conversation with them, but I also asked them to hang on to their questions until we could officially begin, as I didn't want those yet to arrive to miss out. Ultimately they made smart connections and demonstrated that they had gotten more out of the critical material than they thought. Some still do not get the difference between critical material and literature (and I know, no matter what I do, I'm going to get papers that get it wrong), but I think we're getting closer. I went into class meaning to postpone the papers to Wednesday (since I won't be marking them next week anyway) but as we got caught up in the conversation, I thought, "Oh, hell, let's just leave it alone." They'd have loved me for the postponement, but honestly, it felt like just one more thing to keep track of.

Making a segue from keeping track to removing some of my self-imposed pressure, somewhere between last night and this morning I suddenly thought, "Why do I have to have all the papers for Monday conferences on my door on Thursday morning? I never have before." So I announced to today's 101 the change in policy: Monday conferencees who have early appointments will find their papers on my door tomorrow a.m. as initially promised. Those with later appointments will find them Monday a.m. Of course, students in my T/Th sections still expect to find papers for Monday appointments on my door first thing tomorrow, and at least one of those students will probably anxiously look for hers the second they're supposed to appear. Instead, she--and any other T/Th student looking for a paper tomorrow--will see a note that grading is in progress. But they'll survive. They'll have the entire weekend to look over comments, and the revision isn't due until yet another weekend has gone by. But that one woman is wildly nervous about her work: she's an adult and has some ESL problems, and she desperately wants to do well, so I feel a little guilty that she may be left hanging for a while.

Anyway, it is nice to see one of the stacks of papers already whittled down significantly (and I'm refusing to focus on the other enormous stacks right now. I'm taking my triumphs where and how I can.) I also feel good about today's 101 lesson on revision and works cited pages. That probably means I'll feel less happy tomorrow (every class I do the lesson slightly differently, and I almost always think either, "Shit, I did that so much better in the other section" or "Shit, I wish I'd done that in the other section; this way was much better." Or both.) Still, I think this is the first semester that I've so carefully gone over works cited pages prior to their revisions. WC pages are not required on first versions of first papers but become a requirement with the revisions--and yet in the past I have pretty much tossed them into the deep end and then tried to rescue them after the fact. My logic has always been that it's easier to understand the wretched things when one is working with something concrete, not in the abstract, but we made it concrete enough today that I think it worked. Or worked for those who care enough to pay attention, take notes, and do what I recommended (i.e., use the fucking style guide). I'll know more when I get the revisions.

I almost forgot: during class there was suddenly a little flurry among the students and when I looked over, one of the young women said, "Professor, there's a weirdo out in the hall. He's standing in the corner and he keeps showing his tushie." Took me a minute to sort out that this weirdo was literally mooning the class and by the time I got to the door to see what was going on, I was just in time to see the top of his head as he ran down the stairs. It took us a while to get settled down again (and I asked them all to contact public safety if they saw him again or could give a description of him)--and the student who had explained the problem then started to tease herself about having said "tushie." Well, in the shock of the moment, who knows what vocabulary will come to mind? Anyway, that's a new one for me. It's always an adventure....

Oh, AND, shifting gears yet again (I'm going to wear out the metaphoric clutch at this rate), Bruce wanted to talk to me after he observed my class, but I was besieged by students, so instead I dropped by his office when I was done. We talked a little about the observation but then we got into a fascinating conversation about linguistics (Bruce is a linguist), arising from the fact that one of the students in 229 is interested in exploring language use: what it means in terms of their identity for Native Americans to use English (and occasional words from their native tongues). We talked like actual scholars for a little bit. It was a blast. More more more, please! Jeez, it's nice to feel those brain muscles get a teeny stretch from time to time.

And what the hell am I still doing in the office? I have to be back here in 12 hours (oh GAWD). How many ends can any one candle have? I'm burning both ends plus a couple of spots in the middle it seems.

Yes, I'm talking about you...

Fun moment in RB section of 101 today. Students were working on peer review of papers and signing up for conferences, always a little chaotic to multitask, and one student realized he didn't know where my office was. However, since his brain was obviously in too many places at once, he called out to me, "Where's the thing, Miss Thing?" (Yes, if you're reading this, you know who you are--or if you're his classmate, you know who I'm talking about. Ahem, about whom I am talking. Gack.) I'd already corrected him about calling me "Mrs. Payne" (Mrs??). He had quickly corrected that to Professor, and damned good thing too (she says teasingly), but, I beg your pardon, Miss Thing?? This became a comedy routine of me teasing him pretty relentlessly. Bless his heart, he was a sport about it, and the other students were pretty amused. Levity: it's a wonderful pedagogical tool. One student also asked about whether a phrase he had used was too close to the original, so I did my little "When in doubt, in terms of quotation, paraphrase, documentation, CYA." I always ask if anyone knows what CYA means--occasionally I have a student who was in the military who knows--and when I say, "It means cover your ass" they are tickled. "Omigod, Professor said ass!!" The student who is reading this blog knows I say a lot worse than that.

And I was delighted to find that a student is reading this blog. When I was teasing Mr. Thing, I said I'd have to put the event in the blog. (I do love it when we have fun together; these are moments I live for as a teacher.) Anyway, that's how I found out this young woman is reading it. I have the link posted on my faculty home page, but I have always rather assumed that if students go to the home page at all, they only go to download a needed document and never look at anything else. I came to find out, not only is one young woman following the blog, another in the same class had read the little "about me" section of the home page. Very cool beans. I know they like to "get under the hood" as Paul says (i.e., figure out what makes us work--and indeed, Mr. Think asked why I blog, which I'll have to write about some other time), but I truly felt a little "aw shucks" about their interest--or like Sally Field accepting her Oscar. (Reference the students surely don't know.)

So that was fun--and even better, the class was well attended; only one student showed up without a paper (and was asked to leave once he'd signed up for his conference; I thought he'd begun to turn around, too, so that was disappointing). One e-mailed to say her paper would be late. So that only leaves I think two completely unaccounted for. In KC, however, there were 14 students in the room with papers--and 11 no shows. Not only no-shows for class, I haven't heard boo from them about getting their papers to me. I think they willfully forget that the late penalty for papers is per day, not per class, so they think handing the paper in on Thursday won't be a problem. It will. Two full letter grades off: ouch.

And I've told them that I am so draconian in my late paper policy because I was (and am) the world's worst procrastinator. As an undergrad, I'd only turn a paper in on time if I was faced with a similar horrifying penalty. Ah well. They'll learn. Maybe not in my class, this semester, but in time, they'll learn.

In any event, now I have 12 papers to grade by 10 a.m. Thursday. (I graded one, just to feel I'd done something.) I observe a colleague tomorrow at 9:30, am observed myself at 11, have a one-class break, teach a class--and then have to grind through as many of those 12 as I can. It can take me up to half an hour per paper: try as I might, I just can't seem to get it down much below that, not and feel like I'm giving the students the feedback they need. Many colleagues tell me I mark too much, that students will be overwhelmed, won't read 99% of the comments, won't know what to focus on. But when I ask the students (granted, usually the ones who've made it to the end of the semester), almost across the board they say they like the extensive comments. They may not be able to respond to all of them, but they like getting them. And now that I have them write a little report on my comments--which ones seem the most important and how they will address them in revision--I just can't make myself do less, despite what it does to my nerves, my sleep, even my eating habits.

I got one piece of P&B business done today (read and responded to a first draft of a sabbatical application). I also have a promo application to review, but the draft deadline for those is later (for my promo app, too, thank God), so I'll have to tell that colleague that I'll give her feedback as soon as I can. I'm not sure how this weekend will go. (No ride, that's for sure.) I may have to use my promo folder and my colleague's as my brain breaks from grading (instead of reading more of Barnaby Rudge, or taking a monster nap, which I would infinitely prefer).

I spent a tiny bit of time today talking with Paul about ideas for my own scholarship. I can't do more than dream about that now (I think of what I have to do in the next few weeks and I have panic attacks), but at least ideas are percolating. It proves that my own academic chops have not completely--well, done whatever chops do when they don't work any more. Atrophied?

And now, once again, I'm heading home late enough that I'm going to have a hard time winding down enough to get to sleep early enough to get up early enough.... Ye gods, I don't know what kind of carnival ride this is, but I will be very happy when it stops (December 22, while I'm winging off to Montana, doing final grading and grade crunching on the plane). I'm getting dizzy (sometimes literally: ah, stress, ain't it grand)--but the up side of tempus fugit is that it fugits on all levels: things come up unbelievably quickly but they also will be over before one knows it.

Still, imagine having a 3-2 load instead of 4-4.... I yearn.

Trudging

In the ridiculous movie A Knight's Tale (starring Heath Ledger and Paul Bettany, among others), Geoffrey Chaucer appears, stark naked, walking down the road. When the people he has just passed him ask what he is doing, he says, "Trudging." He then goes on to say something about "trudging" being a slow, dispirited and persevering movement.... I don't remember the exact bit (I should get it right: it's amusing--or at least it is as delivered by Bettany). Anyway, that's what I feel like I'm doing. Not quite dispirited (and fully clothed, though I don't think nudity is a requirement of the activity), but yes, trudging. Metaphorically of course. I chip away at the huge, steaming piles of student assignments, knowing more are poised to fall about my ears like snow off a heavily laden branch--and with a similarly chilling and uncomfortable effect. But on I trudge.

Class-wise it was a relatively easy day today. The kids in 229 did a great job--those of them who actually had their books and reading journals (six received a "no books" absence, including Mr. Gun, who stewed about it for a while and then left in a snit [a small Yugoslavian car...]). I should have been enforcing that policy all along, but I've gotten to the point that it truly bugs the shit out of me, so now, no wiggle room. No excuse for anyone not to have the book or at least photocopied pages. (I'm doing the same in my 101s). But that's beside the point. The discussion, about two contemporary Native American stories, was terrific. I wish Bruce had been there to observe today. They did great work in groups, and were enthusiastic and quite smart in the whole-class discussion. I'm not sure they'll be so expressive on Wednesday (when I actually will be observed): they'll be responding to another critical reading, which I know will be a struggle. But it's cool when they do the heavy lifting, and all I have to do is sort of direct traffic.

The 101 today was also easy, as it was peer review of drafts day. Oops, I beg your pardon: not drafts, versions. I insist that I do not want a work in progress or anything rough: I want something they think is perfect. Then we'll take that apart and make their best work better. I think that is important: they need to understand that what they bring into class is not the best they can be. But I think there is also value in showing them how to get from really rough ideas to something polished, so I may at some point have to reconsider how I structure teaching revision--and how to do it in a way that does not create exponentially more work for me. Hmmm. Still kicking that one around.

I also observed a colleague today, very cool class. She'd given the students a provocative reading and asked them to consider very interesting questions about the author's bias, how we can detect it, how he works to "manipulate" us into seeing the issue his way. Her approach and questions led to genuine critical thinking: the students were quite wonderful in their responses, as well as making good use of evidence from the text. Maybe I should ask her to come teach all my classes?

Tomorrow I'm expecting a slightly rougher day. For one thing, the T/Th sections haven't signed up for their conferences yet (I do mandatory conferencing in the week between first version and revision of their first papers), so I have to take class time getting that set up, and it will distract them from their focus on each others' papers. The T/Th sections also seem to be a little more, um, lively (especially RB; I'm always hauling them out of the chandeliers), so I'm not sure how well they'll focus even without that distraction. But I'm getting better--i.e. more succinct--in explaining the process. I used to give a two-page handout about what to do. I now write four bullet points on the board (maybe it's five; I don't want to think long enough to count).

And I'll have to get up at 0-dark-30 (as Daddy used to say) to plow through as much as I can before that first class. The P&B folder review I meant to do this afternoon got put aside in favor of student work I needed to have out of my hair so it doesn't get lost in the shuffle--and (following a motif here) I was also shuffling papers, making sure I have handouts at least for the rest of this week and next. I have this horrible feeling I'm going to forget a crucial handout at just the wrong moment. Bonnie described working with a particular director as being like standing next to someone whose strand of pearls had just broken: that idea of precious things bouncing around and falling through cracks and hiding in corners.... OK, so maybe that's me. Or I'm trudging and my strand of pearls has just broken?

Oh, and one more good note: the last student to leave 101 today is a young man who always writes terrific stuff in his reading journals and never says a word in class. I asked him why he doesn't speak up, and although he admitted he never raised his hand, he didn't have an answer why not. I said, "I can't force you to participate, but I want to encourage you to. You have really great ideas, and it would do wonderful things for the class if you would share them." He gave me a dazzling smile and said he'd try. I hope he does. That's a light that should definitely not be under a bushel or any other stifling object.

But I'm about to stifle myself--or am already stifled, or am the stifling object, or something. The wall and I have met once again in a less than loving embrace.

Saturday p.m.

Almost 7, it'll be after by the time I'm done blogging. I got a little more than half-way through the silted up assignments for 229--and am discouraged, not because I'm not getting them marked fast enough (well, that too, but not primarily), but because the study questions approach to critical material doesn't seem to be working. I think I mentioned in a previous post that since students always struggle with the difference between primary and secondary material--and don't know what to do with the secondary stuff--instead of having them use the same reading journal form for both kinds of writing, I decided to have them answer study questions on the secondary. The study questions always include prompts along the lines of "how would you use this to help you analyze the literature?" And still, many students just paraphrase the critical material, or interpret it (sometimes they even interpret it pretty well), but they leave out the step of using it as support.

I grant you, there are some who interpret the secondary material beautifully and make intelligent connections to the literature. A few even show improvement from the first set of study questions to the latest, so either their group discussions have helped or something I've said in class has made a difference. But I'm at a loss for the rest of them. This may be one of those unfortunate things I just have to let go: the ones who don't get it may just not get it, and there may be nothing I can do to bring them along. That's always a difficult acknowledgment for me, however. I always think I'll find that magic bullet, so even if they can't do it well, at least they understand what they're supposed to be doing.

Poor Mr. "I'll bring my gun" is, as I predicted, struggling. He doesn't seem able to understand even the simplest of the readings--or at least he isn't able to express anything that indicates understanding in his journals. Mr. "I've missed the first week of classes but I'll get caught up" is, in fact, pretty well caught up on his assignments--but I am not so sure about what he's gotten out of them. So far, I'm distinctly underwhelmed by his work. Another student already has five absences (six = failure or withdrawal, no other options; at five he suffers a final grade penalty. He's turned in virtually nothing, and what he has turned in demonstrates pretty much complete incomprehension.) Two others have four absences (also a grade penalty), one because he has serious health problems, the other for reasons unknown. I'm trying to work with the young man with the health problems, but I'm just not sure what I can do past a certain point. The other student is one of the apparently very smart ones: he may think that his intelligence will get him by, but he's only turned in one assignment in addition to all the absences, so he may have to think again.

I also suddenly remembered that I'm doing two observations this week (tempus fugit): one on Monday and one on Wednesday (the class period before I am, in turn, observed by Bruce). So I need to read at least the materials to prep for the Monday observation, though I may let the stuff for Wednesday pickle for a little while longer. Monday afternoon is already set aside for looking at the folders for the folks I'm mentoring for sabbatical/promotion. And it's gotten to that time: I have to check my syllabi for a few days soon when I can cancel class to work on my own folder. I'm at least carrying home the documents for my folder that I have collected here in the office, plus the minutes of all the committees I've been on, so I can see when I attended (when I was even a member on some) and what, if anything, I did.

Oh argh. blatherblatherblather. If this semester doesn't turn me into a gibbering lunatic, I'll be eligible for some kind of hall of fame just for survival. Colleague Duane once described another colleague as running around like his ass was on fire. That succinctly describes my current method of propulsion.

Funny to be in the office after dark. Pretty soon, this will be a very common occurance (as the days get shorter and we finally stop saving daylight). It's actually kinda cozy. And I don't mind being all alone here in Bradley. I play my music without fear of bugging anyone, and when my music stops, I enjoy the silence. I am, however, going to turn on a hall light before I turn off the office lights: I don't relish the idea of walking down that long hall in just the glow of the exit sign.

And at the moment, the burning question is, what shall I have for dinner??

Radical change in approach

OK, so remember Mr. Monkey Skulls? I utterly changed my decision about how to handle him--and feel much better about what I did. The shift in approach began because I couldn't figure out how to stop him at the door, give him his "you're out" letter, and then avoid a confrontation/explanation. If I were a different kind of person I might have been able to feel I didn't need to explain anything but could say, "No, you can't come in. No, I won't explain why. It's in the letter. Go away and read that." Being the kind of person I am, I was envisioning an escalating conflict and (being the chickenshit that I am about confrontation), I decided I'd let him in but I'd give him his assignments and the letter at the end of class when I returned assignments to everyone else.

So he came in, and they all began with a freewrite. After I collected the freewrites, as some other handouts were slowly going around the room, under the guise of checking to be sure they all had remembered to put their names on the freewrites (in fact two had not), I took a glance at his--and from what I saw, it seemed sincere, even lovely. That was a quick glance, mind you: when I read it, I may see the same snarky, contemptuous stuff, but the apparent tone today gave me pause. I also had Paul's voice in the back of my head, asking, "Have you already talked to him about this?" I was so pissed off I didn't want to--until today. Today, I thought, "Let me talk to him and see what happens."

So, end of class, as I was returning everyone's assignments, I told him I wanted to see him briefly after class. There were still a few students in the room, but I took him way off to the side and very quietly said, "I read your assignments, but I didn't mark them. After reading them, I seriously considered ejecting you from the class permanently." He looked surprised and asked why, so I explained about the lack of respect, the contempt, the tone inappropriate for college work--but, I said, it occurred to me that he might not know what was OK and what wasn't. So I figured I'd rather give him an opportunity to learn that than just to kick him out without that chance. He listened respectfully; he nodded in agreement; he looked serious or smiled at the appropriate moments. I then said, "You do know what I'm talking about in these assignments, right?" He said, yes, he knew. So I said that I'd give him some kind of mark for those assignments but that from now on, I expected the kind of language suitable for college. He said he would comply and left on a positive note. No confrontation, no anger, no resistance or any of the responses I had been braced for when I thought I was going to just toss him.

And now, if he does it again, I have talked to him about it and can toss him without guilt.

But somehow I don't think he will. I'm not sure what was going on, but it feels sorted out at the moment. In the past, I have had students do outrageous things and I come to find out they are bipolar, or struggling to manage medications for some psychosocial problem, or are going through withdrawal, or living in some other kind of hell that causes them to act up. He may have been testing me to see where the limits are and whether I am tough enough to make him keep to them. (Uh, yeah. "Though she be but little, she is fierce.") And he genuinely may have thought that there are no rules in college; that one can do/say whatever one wants. (I've run into that before, too.) In any event, I anticipate some resistance from him about what I require of his writing (and especially about how rigorously I grade), but I believe generally he'll stay in line now.

It was a nice end to the day and the week. Despite waking up at 4:20 a.m. and getting up at 4:40 (alarm was set for 5), I still didn't get all of the silted-up ancient assignments marked and back to my last class. Close, but there are a few lingering bits. And now, of course, I have all of this week's homework to go through. This may mean I'll be at the office on Saturday, maybe on Sunday too--or I may need to crash on Saturday (it's supposed to be chilly and rainy: perfect for Dickens, tea, and serious napping, which my body may insist upon) and do life maintenance on Sunday.... It's just going to be like this until December. The nice bit, though, is that in my 101s on Monday and Tuesday, I don't have to do any of the heavy lifting at all: they do peer review of each other's papers and I'm just on call if they have questions. I may sneak in a little marking of stuff while they do that, too. Ah, whatever. Somehow it all gets done. How does it? It's a mystery.