pocket folders of sorrow
Hi everybody. My title is borrowed from fellow Spaldingite Richard Newman's, "Briefcase of Sorrow," a terribly sad poem about the end of a teaching semester. I don't carry a briefcase, but
I do have a stack of pocket folders at my left elbow full of tonight's reading---in some cases three essays by students trying to meet the deadline after dilly-dallying all semester. After writing this blog entry I will have to go see the Humanities secretary about getting my grade-submission rosters this week instead of next; this must happen because I'm leaving town Saturday.
All of which is rather dull, but "all work and no play makes Suzy---" is it Suzy or Jack??? Play is scheduled in the near future. Overall, I have to exclaim: What a Semester. It's the first time since the early 90's that I've attempted to teach and be a student at the same time, and at my advanced age, I found this a little like --- I can't think of a good simile. Like digging an Oreo cookie out of a toaster while it's toasting??? Like hiking from Moscow to Paris??? Like pulling the hairs out of my head one by one??? Like eating twelve pounds of "freedom fries???"
Not smoking through all this has made it even more like nailing my big toe to the floor (any Christ-imagery in this simile is purely accidental).
I want to make a statement to any of my readers who are considering responding anonymously with links to very odd websites or blogs which might offer me a truly bizarre product or service.
NO THANKS!!! To those who commented intelligently on my last blog entry, thanks. I enjoyed your thoughts.