I have no context for grading papers other than either pretending I'm someone else (Ralph Black, Elizabeth, a fellow grad student) or pretending I have a clue what I'm doing and winging it. And comparing them against the others, which isn't fair. I have a shitload of B, B-minus, or solid C papers. Which is discouraging, even though it shouldn't be. If they could write, they likely wouldn't be at a community college. That Matt, though. Damn. With his Calvin and Hobbes esque go-kart narrative, taking it above the level of freshman writing and talking about the freedom of flight. Compared to the vague essays about freedom. Yawn, and badly executed yawn at that.
So I have the hippie lung plague. Again. Every October, round about Fair time. This year I'm damned if I'm going to let it turn into pneumonia, though. First off, because it was a pain in my ass. Secondly, because I want to be able to leave my fucking place of employment in the next few weeks. Even though Mi-Hye is completely crazy and I won't be able to resign at the end of our asinine meeting tomorrow. The one that she insists won't take long--of course it won't take long, she's already convicted me of something she had no right to even question. Fucking freak. God.
And yes that's anxiety and exhaustion and DayQuil talking. Or, more accurately, the need to take another dose of it. Only it's the bedtime kind for me. Even though I haven't graded but two papers and commented on a third. I've at least made a dent, and those are scaring me. Because that still matters to me. I still want to do well...I can't imagine not wanting to give back to Susan, who took a chance on me. And I wonder if she regrets her decision. (Jonas is pawing to get at the medicine cabinet, stubborn little fuzzbutt) I know I'm over-reacting, and that if I go in as a colleague and ask for help and guidance and mentoring like I was supposed to get.....that I can only get better. She knows I have no experience, so why am I crucifying myself for her? Oh yeah, because Mi-Hye trained me to.
And no, for your information, we haven't heard from our respective prospective employers. He at least is on a decent level of communication with his. And Eva just got back from Israel last week, so the house is still there. But still, the waiting is making me more like my worst nightmare-vision of my mother.
I know there's a lesson here. The lesson is supposed to be that I stand with grace in the waiting, grow into a thoughtful, serene woman who can roll with the punches. A rock, my boyfriend's firm foundation. Somehow it's not working out that way.
Oh, and ladies and gentlemen, Matt Schaffer with the go-kart essay on a breakaway, he shoots, he scores! The crowd is on its feet! Yes! Yes! The Giants win the pennant! The curse is broken! 1940! 1940!
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