But they don't have cute outfits
I spent part of Sunday of my NOT-SPRING BREAK grading because the student emails were starting to infect my computer. Not with Trojans, just bad vibes and making Eleanor less an object of communication and pleasure, than a tool for work. And yes, that is technically why she was purchased, but there is no reason for me to look at her with a sense of dread because of the THINGS other people will communicate to me through her.
So I’m stretched out in the nice living room because I cannot stand working at my desk that day. Does anyone else do that? Constantly change your work station (not necessarily your job, but that too) because if you spend one more second in that location you are going to scream? Even if I’m in the same room I’ll try out every single seating configuration through the duration of a working period. I’m at my desk now but feel claustrophobic and yet short of suffocating in the attic this is the only place I can shut myself off.
Now because Eleanor, despite being 5 inches smaller than Hedwig, takes up my entire lap I had my grade book tucked under my arm not unlike a breastfeeding newborn. And to tell you the truth, the balancing act might not be that different from breast feeding. Granted the grade book is significantly lighter. My nipples bear no ill-effects from an enthusiastic pair of gums, but my god the (silent) screaming it can do when ignored.
Part of my work process involves a lot of not working. I’m a little ashamed about how much play I incorporate in to my work, because a better more efficient person than I, would say that if I could just focus on the work for two hours straight it would be DONE and I could have the rest of the day free. Guys, I tried that. I did. And I just stared at a blank screen longing for a distraction of some kind. So I usually have comedy playing, because I work better when other people are talking around me but not at me. And then a browser devoted to whatever I need to be looking at right that very second. Who cares if this system takes me three times longer, at least I get something done by the end and compared six different pairs of white Bermuda shorts.
(Full Disclosure: I don’t know how long I’ve sat here typing, but after each sentence I go read a blog entry. Even that sentence.)
Now the other work is good at sitting neglected while I peruse page after page of wholesale beads, but not the grade book. If I let my attention drift towards the merits of fire polished Czech beads versus matte that grade book would judge like a judging thing. “Hey! Hey you! You still have 12 students to get through. I’m not out here for my health. Plug these grades and comments in.”
And so I would force myself back to work, pecking on the keyboard with one hand and balancing the curmudgeon with the other. But the strange thing is that even after I was done and could type like a normal person, that grade book was still in my arm. Probably for the best because the second I put it down, the cat would curl up on top of it. The baby comparisons just keep coming.