I had some site issues yesterday and today, but Joelle, my fabulous designer at Moxie Design Studios fixed me up and the folks at Hosting Matters (recommended by Joelle) were extremely quick to respond to my questions… which, uh, were rather frantic at 9:30 this morning. But all is well now, crisis averted, I no longer feel out of touch with the world. (And I should be getting e-mail again, Alana.)
It’s been a weird week. I said it, I e-mailed it, I even tweeted it on Twitter. (And I didn’t even include all the weirdness of the week because Twitter only allows 140 characters.) And this today:
Here is your horoscope for Sunday, May 4:
You are still finding more weirdness as you dig through your closets or open old files—but it’s almost all positive! You should try to exploit this crazy luck, because now is the time to pull ahead of the pack.
So, I guess the weirdness isn’t over yet… I can’t say all of the weirdness this week has been positive or lucky, but some of it has-- and I’ll happily take more of the same. Even if it is, well, weird. (Weird word, weird is.)
Speaking of the good kind of weird: Yesterday, I got candy in the mail from Alison for telling her my favorite words. Weird wasn’t one of them, but maybe it should be. (If you’re curious, my favorite words include: undulate, sensuous, slippery, velvet, salacious, wicked, bohemian and hedonist.)
I’m off to make words. Not with candy, however. That would be… weird.
One of the things I love best about being writer (other than the big piles o’ cash-- ha!) is that writers love being writers. At least, the writers I know love being writers. We all love what we do, we’re passionate about it, it’s in our blood, it’s a part of our soul. I love that. Sure, we all have complaints and down days and struggles and insecurities (and the occasional drug and/or alcohol problem...), but most writers are only writers because they cannot not be writers. I know that convoluted sentence is a mess, but the truth is there.
The problem I have with being a college adjunct is that students, at least many of the students I have encountered, do not love being students. They do not want to be students, they want to be graduates (that’s the best case scenario-- I think some of them have no clue what they want). They want to be finished with the process, but they do not want to endure the process. They want to whine and complain and be spoon fed the answers. They want to do half-assed work and get a B in the class-- or even an A! It is exhausting, frustrating and depressing to grade these students’ assignments, struggling to find a way just to pass some of them, knowing that I’m not doing them any favors if I do pass them, but not wanting to fail them, either. It has been a disheartening couple of days.
I suppose the worst part of this experience for me is that I don’t understand. I like school-- which is obvious, since I keep going back. I love learning new things, I enjoy writing research papers and doing creative projects. I think I’m enthusiastic in my teaching approach and I don’t understand why that enthusiasm doesn’t rub off. Sure, I have a handful of students who are doing well, a couple who seem to be the kind of student I was/am, but they are the minority and they do not counterbalance the apathy of the others.
The semester is almost over and I will be relieved when it is. I hate feeling this way-- I like being passionate about my work. Sure, I’m relieved when I finish a writing project, but I’m almost always anxious to go onto the next thing. With teaching, at least this semester, I’m not anxious for fall. (I decided to take the summer off-- I wouldn’t be doing anyone any favors to teach a summer class with my current attitude.) I’m starting to think I’m not cut out to be a teacher-- or maybe I’m not cut out to teach what I’m teaching or where I’m teaching. I don’t know. But this feeling-- this blah, discouraged, helpless feeling-- is one I can live without.
I can only imagine how I will feel when I submit final grades next week. Sigh.
I think the universe is currently out of whack and trying to right itself. I have received several unusual correspondence in the past few days-- “unusual” in the sense of being unexpected and out of the blue. As if people are thinking about me whom I don’t expect to be thinking about me. Not that I don’t think people think about me, but I don’t think people think about me more than they think about other things like, say, government rebate checks or what to have for breakfast. So, to be thought about and then have someone send a note or what not, it is surprising. Mostly surprising in a nice way.
This universe out of alignment theory suggests I am somehow responsible for realigning it. Of course, I go from being rather humble in saying I don’t expect people to think about me (especially people who don’t see me often-- or at all) to accepting responsibility for righting the universe. Ah, the dichotomy! Perhaps it’s only my universe that is out of order, hence the need for me to be the one to re-establish the balance. Yes, perhaps that is it. But I have heard others say their universe is out of order, too. (Hence, some of the correspondence.)
I have commented more than once in the past week that, whatever task I take on next, I would like to wear a cape. (Alison prefers sexy socks.) I don’t know why, but righting the universe (even if it’s only my universe) just seems to scream “cape.” Plus, people kind of have to believe I’m serious about saving the universe if I’m wearing a cape, right? (But not one of those floor-length ones I’ll trip over-- I prefer one of those mid-thigh capes that will flow behind me as I dash around.)
I’m cool with being the superhero of my own universe. How about you?
My three-month Tweet Cloud from my posts at Twitter. While I normally resist whatever the fad of the moment is (and for all I know, Twitter is already on its way out), I love the instant gratification of micro-blogging and social networking in 140 little characters. Satisfies my non-linear, non sequitur brain.
Are you on Twitter?
Life. Love. Writing. Friendship.
Sex. Books. Movies. Travel. Politics. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Rants. Raves. Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Some names have been changed, some stories have been embellished. Thanks for stopping by and beware of the dog. Read more...
