no life.
I must be a nerd.
This would explain the feeling of exhilaration I get at the end of the semester. It might also be stress and lack of sleep being mistaken for thrill. There is so much to do and time dwindles.
Presented a short form of a paper I have due a week from today, which will be entitled something like "'This Man's Country': Racializing Neighborhoods and Geographic Invisibility in Paule Marshall's Brown Girl, Brownstones."
I will have 32 researched argument essays to grade - 8-10 pages each. Freshman papers. Agony.
I will then have 64 writing portfolios to read and grade the following week. Oh yeah and listen to 32 painful oral presentations.
Somewhere in there I present a short version of another long paper, this one something about the figure of the enlightened/alienated black Atlantic subject and the performativity of middle-class respectability and something about inner-coloniality as well in Salkey's Escape To An Autumn Pavement (A great lost gem of Jamaican Literature I highly recommend - sharp dialogue that involves the protagonist's double consciousness as a participant) and also Brown Girl, Brownstones
Actually, not all that much compared to some semesters, but enough when you thrown in a 37 mile commute in increasingly poor weather.
But still I always feel jazzed at this time and little of that is the high of getting to complain, if just a little bit about how much I have to do, when in reality I have little to complain about.
This would explain the feeling of exhilaration I get at the end of the semester. It might also be stress and lack of sleep being mistaken for thrill. There is so much to do and time dwindles.
Presented a short form of a paper I have due a week from today, which will be entitled something like "'This Man's Country': Racializing Neighborhoods and Geographic Invisibility in Paule Marshall's Brown Girl, Brownstones."
I will have 32 researched argument essays to grade - 8-10 pages each. Freshman papers. Agony.
I will then have 64 writing portfolios to read and grade the following week. Oh yeah and listen to 32 painful oral presentations.
Somewhere in there I present a short version of another long paper, this one something about the figure of the enlightened/alienated black Atlantic subject and the performativity of middle-class respectability and something about inner-coloniality as well in Salkey's Escape To An Autumn Pavement (A great lost gem of Jamaican Literature I highly recommend - sharp dialogue that involves the protagonist's double consciousness as a participant) and also Brown Girl, Brownstones
Actually, not all that much compared to some semesters, but enough when you thrown in a 37 mile commute in increasingly poor weather.
But still I always feel jazzed at this time and little of that is the high of getting to complain, if just a little bit about how much I have to do, when in reality I have little to complain about.