There's no sense of ha-ha there.
I spent the whole morning trying to memorize the face I was making so that I could return to my cluttered new apartment and recreate the face accurately in the mirror. Sitting in a 10th and 11th grade English classroom of Unnamed Local High School, I couldn’t tell if the face reflected bemusement, indifference, distracted annoyance, rapt attention, enthusiasm, or my typical standby face…… tired. Who knows what kind of first impression I made on seventy-three students and my teacher? (The latter I had met before, but that didn’t stop her from being 85% befuddled by my presence.)
Since my program requires that I return to this classroom every school day until early December, I will have to work on both my face and my social skills. It occurred to me, as my teacher was manipulating the students into liking her, that I do not care what the students think of me, and I have no interest in beginning a career that requires validation from teenagers. (Therefore I’ve also called Simon Cowell to say that even though I’d spectacularly nailed the audition, I just can’t be a part of American Idol this year. Thanks, but no thanks.)
When I was in the field in Atqasuk, the satisfaction of completing work on a single plot would often not be enough for me to be able to move on to the next plot. You know, psychologically. At times like these I would make a deliberate check mark on the page in the folder. “YES!” these check marks say. “YOU’VE DONE IT THIS TIME, JENNY! THAT PLOT IS TOAST.” There’s no spot on the paper designated for pat-on-the-back-check-marks, and they keep turning up in unexpected places as I flip through and transfer the important numbers.
From the dead mosquitoes in the data folders (and, naturally, the check marks) I get all the validation I require.
Oh, and I haven't cross-posted a few entries from the other place, sooo. Well that's all.