The weeks grow ever-more harrowing as semester nears its end. We pass one another in the halls, we professors, and our greetings grow increasingly flustered and brief. “How are you?” “Hanging in there, you?” “Sort of.” There’re also a lot of countdown greetings. “Good morning, how are you?” “Six more days”
My offices both work and home are turning into crazed piles of papers, books, bread crumbs, an old plastic spoon I keep re-using without washing, graded quizzes and papers students have yet to pick up, wadded-up post-it notes with various important directives on them, print-outs from advising meetings I spent the entire semester saying “I need to figure out a filing system for those” but never did, notebooks, pens that are out of ink, and so, so many whiteboard markers. I am like where whiteboard markers go to die. I never have one so I keep stealing them from other classrooms and offices, never putting it together that I could just take one from my own enormous pile.
Here is what I do every day. I get up between 5:30 and 6:30, depending on what day it is. I get dressed and pack my bag. As you know, I struggle with lunch. A month ago I made a pact that I would at least bring SOMETHING to eat every day, no matter what. This is a big enough step that the issue of variety has yet to be taken seriously. So every single day I pack: six pieces of baguette, a little tupperware of butter, and a sliced apple. And also my coffee, obviously. It takes me an hour and a half to get to school, and by the time I arrive at my office I am sincerely frozen to the very core of my being. I get inside, shut the door, unveil myself, change my shoes, and then unpack my food and coffee. I sit at my desk eating bread and butter and apples and coffee, and I plan my class. On Tuesday and Thursday there is no time left over–it is a high-octane race against the clock (see below, re: me losing the race). I finish my coffee and my lesson plan usually with 4 minutes or so before class starts, and I race upstairs and immediately begin teaching. On M/W/F I usually have a couple of hours after finishing my class planning and actually teaching. Usually this time is filled with meetings, either committee meetings or advising meetings with students. On days when it’s not, I catch up on grading or things like recommendation letters or my own job market materials, and sometimes I spent this time posting obsessively on Facebook or shopping for Banana Republic blazers on ebay. Then I go to teach my MWF class. On M/F I leave directly from class to catch the bus. On Wednesdays I have additional office hours after class. These are surprisingly well-attended, must make a note of this for future planning. Then usually at 4:15 Greg picks me up in his car and we ride home together. Wednesday is the real hinge of my week. I was saying this to my old man the other day–”it’s interesting because Wednesday is my busiest day but then it really feels like it starts me on the lovely downward slide to Friday” and my old man was like “that is literally what Wednesday is like for every person. It is such a common experience of Wednesday that Wednesday has its own nickname, which is ‘hump day,’ maybe you have heard of it”
If that all sounds fascinating to you then maybe you should become a teacher! And if doesn’t sound fascinating then you can go fuck yourself and get back to your busy and exciting life acting in movies or whatever it is other people do for a living.
On Thursday for the first time ever I actually straight-up ran out of time and had to go into class half-prepared. Notes all over hither and yon, on different pieces of paper; my class un-outlined; my thoughts unclear. Opened with weird monologue about nunneries, then said “anyway, you don’t need to know about that.” Series of brutal segues into unrelated material. Did a lot of stalling for time by asking rhetorical vocab questions. Went okay.
This weekend was great, as I had no work to do, no grading, nothing pressing down upon me. I kind of took the weekend off. I ran human material errands like going to Hawthorne and refilling all our tea at the witch herb store. I took two huge bags of clothes to sell at Buffalo and they didn’t take ONE SINGLE THING. I texted this to Jae and she said they are “so hateful.” I bought a new teaching dress. I walked to Belmont and finally got my Olo perfume (Victory Wolf, baby’s all grown up). I did yoga and listened to podcasts. I made my final review sheet. Right now I am supposed to be reading Capital but instead I am texting with Jae about the 90s.
And now I just have one day of school and then ’tis Thanksgiving break. And over break I have NO GRADING, because I am a genius and am very good at writing syllabuses. Also because I like to give the kids vacation time to work on their papers, even though none of them ever do. On Tuesday I am going to my first ROLFING appointment. I am so excited. Here is an image of what rolfing is:
Over break I am getting rolfed; doing yoga; writing my finals; baking a pie; and having band practice
I wrote a comedy sketch, do you want to hear it? Okay so we open on a man reading the paper in his living room. The doorbell rings, followed by frantic knocking. He opens the door and there is a woman standing there fidgeting and making desperate “help me” faces. “I’m so sorry, I know this is so weird, but it’s an emergency, can I PLEASE use your bathroom??” she says. She doesn’t look crazy or like a junkie, and the moment is so unexpected and everything is happening so fast, and he’s also so accustomed to doing everything in his power to avoid having to deal with/think about weird menstrual emergencies, which he maybe assumes this is what is going on, or, if not that, perhaps even worse would be female diarrhea, so all this flashes in an instant through his mind and so he is just kind of like, “Uh, yes! Sure! It’s right through there! Hurry!” She runs frantically past him, into the bathroom, and slams the door. The homeowner, perturbed and a little bit worried, kind of stands outside the door, hesitating, torn between chivalry, curiosity, and worry about how he’s just let a stranger into his home. Then hears the water running in the tub! A look of confusion crosses his face. Cut to two hours later, when the woman emerges from the bathroom, steam billowing out behind her. “Phew!” she says, “thank you SO much, oh my god, I was dying out there! I was so GRIMY.”
This sketch was born of me being extremely cold on a walk and wishing I could knock on someone’s door and take a bath in their house. So it’s based on a true story
Who out there has had a vasectomy, and how did you decide to get one, and what was it like? Discuss!