There is nothing hanging over my head. Um, there is no work hanging over my head. I am done. Maybe done with teaching for good, but at the least for several months. I’m not entirely sure what to make of this feeling. Knowing that there was always a lecture to prepare, an exam to write, a stack of papers to read, or often all of those piling up at once, has been a weight on my back for a long time now.
An anchor keeping me grounded?
Nah.
Now I can do some shit. Start recording. Get back to the gym. And maybe sort out the mental attic. But first I need to remember and reflect just a bit on the recent teaching escapades. Now that I’m done, I can share some things I’ve been sitting on. Adjunct detritus as it were.
Exhibit A is a note I received in April. It’s from a female student who had stopped coming to class. I think the point of it was to notify me that she was no longer going to come to class and was ok with the F she would receive. And to take advantage of that to be crude at my expense. I have a sense of humor, and am not sensitive about such things, but I can’t help but think that this note would be rather more insidious if our genders were reversed. Should that matter?
The names are hastily covered over to protect the guilty. An image of the note itself is posted below. The epistolary decorum of the youth of America:
Dear Professor Hottie Pants,
I miss your class, but I don’t need it for my transfer. Please send my paper with xxxxx or xxxxxx.
Stay Hot (in the pants)
xxxxxx
