the end is nigh!
Oh praise the gods and little fishes, it's the end of term. Tomorrow is the last day on which I have to gouge myself out of bed at 6am for purposes of staggering zombie-like into an 8am class and eliciting actual responses from a zombified class by means of fishhooks, forceps and cardboard-and-string.
I'm also in a slight marking lull, as most of the little buggers have eschewed sense and timing in essay topic selection and are, predictably, all choosing to write the last possible essay at the last possible moment because they're BLOODY DISORGANISED! On the upside, this means that I've forced a good 15 of them to actually read Sheri Tepper, which should enlighten the hell out of them. On the downside, something like 40 essays hit on Monday. On the further upside, my weekend is vaguely free for purposes of learning to knit. (Yarn-expedition tomorrow, under the expert tutelage of pumeza. Further dispatches from the front to follow. This is not and never will be a knitting blog, but I feel impelled to record my own bemusement for posterity).
It's a funny feeling, thinking that this might be the last time EVAH! I have to teach an 8am class at my Cherished Institution. Next year is still a big, beautiful, bewildering blank: whether I am teaching elsewhere, free-lance editing or assaulting my Cherished Institution by a devious alternative route is anyone's guess. I'm surprisingly upbeat about it all, unless you count sudden spontaneous desires to knit as evidence of stress.
I'nm also realising, in this sort of involuntary end-of-term retrospective, how much of this year has been plagued by ill health. Those damned post-glandular days just keep on coming back, giving me periods when it's a huge effort to string words together and I grind to a halt in the middle of a class, completely unable to remember what I just said. And then recurring sinus infections, by way of punctuation. (I have another one at the moment. Oh, joy). I do not want this body, she is skraaaaatched. On the other hand, not very scratched - I have missed only one day of lectures all year, although it's possible my students wish I'd darned well stayed at home instead of routinely standing in the middle of the tut room gaping like a fish.
Last Night I Dreamed: another darned apocalypse, this time by giant, possibly nuclear, explosion. Fortunately I was tucked away in a huge underground complex in the mountains somewhere, a hidden redoubt with incredibly thick walls and a minimal, medieval sort of feel; we barely felt the explosion wash over us. It was very comfortable, thanks to the ministrations of the alien housekeeper, a sort of fussy older male, rather gay, and a good cook. I was also, for some reason, married to another alien, and somewhat testily awaiting his arrival.
I'm also in a slight marking lull, as most of the little buggers have eschewed sense and timing in essay topic selection and are, predictably, all choosing to write the last possible essay at the last possible moment because they're BLOODY DISORGANISED! On the upside, this means that I've forced a good 15 of them to actually read Sheri Tepper, which should enlighten the hell out of them. On the downside, something like 40 essays hit on Monday. On the further upside, my weekend is vaguely free for purposes of learning to knit. (Yarn-expedition tomorrow, under the expert tutelage of pumeza. Further dispatches from the front to follow. This is not and never will be a knitting blog, but I feel impelled to record my own bemusement for posterity).
It's a funny feeling, thinking that this might be the last time EVAH! I have to teach an 8am class at my Cherished Institution. Next year is still a big, beautiful, bewildering blank: whether I am teaching elsewhere, free-lance editing or assaulting my Cherished Institution by a devious alternative route is anyone's guess. I'm surprisingly upbeat about it all, unless you count sudden spontaneous desires to knit as evidence of stress.
I'nm also realising, in this sort of involuntary end-of-term retrospective, how much of this year has been plagued by ill health. Those damned post-glandular days just keep on coming back, giving me periods when it's a huge effort to string words together and I grind to a halt in the middle of a class, completely unable to remember what I just said. And then recurring sinus infections, by way of punctuation. (I have another one at the moment. Oh, joy). I do not want this body, she is skraaaaatched. On the other hand, not very scratched - I have missed only one day of lectures all year, although it's possible my students wish I'd darned well stayed at home instead of routinely standing in the middle of the tut room gaping like a fish.
Last Night I Dreamed: another darned apocalypse, this time by giant, possibly nuclear, explosion. Fortunately I was tucked away in a huge underground complex in the mountains somewhere, a hidden redoubt with incredibly thick walls and a minimal, medieval sort of feel; we barely felt the explosion wash over us. It was very comfortable, thanks to the ministrations of the alien housekeeper, a sort of fussy older male, rather gay, and a good cook. I was also, for some reason, married to another alien, and somewhat testily awaiting his arrival.