Tag Archives: student

That’s the spirit.

23 Oct

I’m approaching the downward spiral of the semester. My day today (and, let’s face it, most days):

Woke up at 6:00 with every intent of going for a run. The neighborhood I live in truly is extraordinary. The entire avenue is lined with century’s old trees and homes. I live a 1/2 mile from a beautiful park, meticulously kept, surrounded by beautiful oaks and pines. This time of year, some type of bird chirp religiously all morning in the trees as I pass them, creating a beautiful contrast to the pounding of my tennis shoes on the pavement. But then I decided I liked the feeling of my thick blanket and the sound of my humidifier more, so I set my alarm for 7:00.

I then got out of bed, fed the cats, and showered with Shelley keeping a watchful eye from the rim of my tub. It’s cold in the mornings, so I keep a fluffy, pink robe and house shoes in the bathroom for when I get out. Shmow was laying on my bed, and she just made it look so perfectly comfortable, I lost balance of my legs and somehow fell on top of the bed, deciding to take a nap. Just a quick nap, really, since I didn’t need to leave until 8:30 to be ready to teach at 9:00 (to include a stop at my office to pick up the essays smoldering with mediocrity to hand back).

Woke up again at 8:00, threw an outfit together, pulled my hair into what resembles a Snooki poof meets Mae West, grabbed an apple, and fought Shelley to get out the door. He’s a sneaky little bastard and will take any chance the door is open as an opportunity to escape and investigate the outside world. (I decided I’m getting him a harness and leash to take him to the snow once winter comes. That’ll be exciting.)

My students were continuing their presentations today, so I got to sit there with my laptop open and give them feedback. As much as they annoy me with their banalities, I honestly think the best thing I can do as a teacher for introductory writing is help boost their confidence so they can have the lady/man balls to write something better somewhere down the line — hopefully for me, but I’m a burst of rainbows and sunshine, so I’ll find something good to tell them (“You spelled your name right! Good for you!”)

I spent my entire office hours catching up on homework for my graduate course tonight. Researching, annotating, alphabetizing, contextualizing, and trying to one-up everyone else (because I’m great and I need to continue to prove it).

By the time I got to my last class of the day, I realized I forgot to reread (since the last time I read it) what I wanted them to read, so I broke them into groups to present on sections while I skimmed it (‘cause I’m a fucking genius). Began a lecture on the rhetorical canons, then class ran out, with a “to be continued” note. They’re so ridiculously excited to pick up the discussion.

“Miss! Miss! Tell me more about Quintilian and Cicero and Aristotle and Socrates! The Sophists are just fascinating!”

Only not.

I came home for lunch, pulling together my expertise in culinary magic to make my lunch: a quesadilla, a spoon of cookie dough, and a small bowl of mango sorbet (‘cause I’m a fucking health nut) to finish my homework, despite Shelley’s efforts to convert my keyboard into a naptime spot.

Back to the office, continuing homework, meetings and strategizing with BFF about our ultimate takeover, then onto coffee. More coffee, and then another cup, you know, to make it through the evening.

Class for three hours, during which time I’m forced to work with a woman I actively despise, but since I’m the typist of our group, I choose to selectively ignore her stupid ideas (because they’re stupid and I’m more eloquent — clearly. Stupid).

Finally I get to come home, greeted by excited meows from the beasts as I trip over my once-clean apartment that is now for all intents and purposes akin to a frat house post Tour de Fat. Granted, the bottles of Wild Blue are from me, but still. They could’ve cleaned up a little bit and prepared for my arrival.

I took out the trash, lovingly guiding (or swinging bags, whatever) at Shelley, who attempted to run out the back door. There’s a gravel parking lot in the back of the house for the tenants of the building, and the dumpster is along the alley. The street light is motion-censored, so when a cat or bird or bat or zombie walk by, it turns on, but approximately 93% of the time it turns off right as I dump my trash in the dumpster. The dogs of the neighborhood sound the alarm (another reason why I have cats).

I decide on cereal for dinner, but then realize I have no clean spoons. I briefly consider using a fork and a coffee mug (because I also have no clean bowls), but then opt for cleaning some dishes. Another downfall to my cheap apartment: no dishwasher. Well, technically there is a dishwasher, but she’s a cranky bitch and generally refuses to wash dishes because she’s above that.

Before I even begin to wash dishes, I realize I left the washcloth in the crockpot to simmer. (What, you don’t cook your washcloths?) I find a new one among wine bottle openers (plural), lighters (also plural), coupons (yeah, still plural) for cat food, and a switchblade (singular. I thought more than one switchblade would be excessive). As I’m washing with the new cloth, it occurs to me that my housekeeping capabilities would terrify my grandmothers, serving as further evidence of my perpetually single life, and probably sending them to an early grave.

Feeling festive, I poured myself some eggnog in a wine glass because the other glasses I own are dirty. Oddly enough, my wine glasses are all clean. I typically only use wine glasses when I have company because, to be completely honest, I open a bottle of wine with absolutely no intent of drinking it one glass at a time. I’m classy that way.

The rest of my night will undoubtedly be filled with drinking Wild Blue (delicious lager) while watching reruns of “The Big Bang Theory” and dodging leaps from Shelley and Shmow as they engage in battle royale, burrowing under my carpet and knocking trinkets off my shelves.

Tomorrow? Same shit. I have to say, my twenties are turning out pretty delicious.


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