There Must Be Something Wrong With the Water

So, even though we are still hopeful today, it appears as if Michael has just been diagnosed with MS after a bout of dizziness and numbness. Dr. Bhatia (the same doctor who treated me) is really prone to talking in circles. Not that I'm a straight talker, but ...

We're all a little confused, now. I may be taking it even harder than Michael -- because I'm taking it personally. Michael wasn't alone when the doctor came in today -- he had me and my Dad there. He got a ride home from the hospital when he was discharged -- from family, that is. He gets to sit on Mom's bed and tell her all about it. Okay, I'm bitter. I admit it. It's not healthy, but ... motherfucker! I kind of don't feel like I got any real attention -- I felt like Mom and Dad thought I was faking it every time I had a little relapse -- right up until they found out about Michael which, coincidentally, was about the same time as I took a big fall (I was dizzy & weak-legged for a moment -- which happens a lot right now) right in front of my cousins.

Did I mention that I really don't like my cousins? Well, that's not quite true. I like Nancy-Sara and Michael. I like Cherylandra, her husband and their daughter. I kind-of like Eric, but there's just something I can't put my finger on that weirds me out. His wife is okay, too. But I really could do without ever seeing either Julia or James ever again. I ducked out of the festivities claiming a headache -- reality: yeah. My head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch from slamming it on Doug's fireplace when I fell. But ... I really just wanted to be at home with my dog -- alone and in quietude.

And I should have been writing my Shakespeare paper that is due on Monday. That, however, is the big procrastination project of this term. I'll get it done. And here it is in writing: I am not going for a PhD. I'm tired. I want a job. I'm sick of homework. I'm sick of writing papers. I'm sick of preparing for classes only to be bored to tears for 2 1/2 hours. Okay ... I'm sick, sick, sick of being a student. I'm ready to move the fuck on. And, here's the big one, I don't care if I get straight "B's" this term. (I probably will get one or two, but I really don't care).

I'm not really in a very good mood. I'm going to take my dog out and smoke for a few minutes and then get back to work on my paper. I have the intro and conclusion done with a vague outline for the body stuff. I've written my works cited (which I will make into a "works consulted" with the stuff I don't actually use). I've reviewed the research. I've color coded and sorted. Now, I just have to write the motherfucker.

Venting

I really don't understand bitter people. I always thought that I was bitter -- cold -- resentful. I find out every term, during "articulation" sessions, that I am a big softie. If you hate students, you shouldn't teach. If you hate helping people learn to write, you shoudn't teach writing. If you hate people in general -- just do us all a favor and remove yourself from the gene pool.

I shall explain: The First Year Comp program at NIU has required sessions each semester where all instructors can gather in groups to evaluate sample student writing. This "calibrates" the grades that various teachers are giving to their students. Or ... this process is supposed to calibrate the grading process. There was one girl in my group, a new TA, who is just plain bitter. I know this from her attitude in some of the courses I have had with her. For instance, Victorian Lit this past summer and Bloomsbury this term. She is not pleasant. I suppose it could be personal, but I really just don't think so. She was absolutely wicked and unrelenting in her grading style.

I suppose I take her grading personally -- and some of the organizers of this session should have been more thorough -- THREE OF THE FIVE PORTFOLIOS THAT WERE OFFICIALLY EVALUATED BY ALL OF THE INSTRUCTORS WERE FROM MY STUDENTS! This is a true compliment. Each was chosen as an example of "good" portfolios. Considering that these were randomly selected (2 from each section -- a total of 6 of my students' portfolios), I am very proud. I guess I did get somewhat lucky because I had great students. But it had to be more than luck -- any of my students could have been selected (except 1 from the fall term -- he failed the course) and the portfolios would have been very good. Am I a good teacher? Sometimes. Am I a good person? Sometimes. Am I tolerant of students and do I maintain fair expectations? Almost always.

"B" (as I will call her) is not a pleasant person, as I have stated before. I am ranting, I know. But I'm stomping pissed. No one knew that these were my students, but ... How can you teach English on the college level without some understanding of what students will know when they come to you? What a fucking bitch! I am not happy ... I know I am hiding it well, but bear with me.

Okay. I am breathing, now. I will get over it eventually.

Stupid Test

A former classmate of mine, Kim, constantly sends me pictures of her kids as well as forwards linking to the latest stupid internet jokes and classifying "tests." I am, apparently, 49% Yankee.

Binary Thinkers

I've been bugged by a discussion we had in my Virginia Woolf class. We discussed the idea tha humans are binary thinkers. Woolf's Orlando assumes this -- actually counts on this.

What would this do to us if we really believed this? There would be no gray, no pink, no in-between at all. Is the world really good or bad -- black or white -- sick or well? I don't think so.

I've been having an MS episode. I generally feel pretty good, but there are times when my right leg gives out and I have nauseating dizzy spells. But the spells are brief. So am I sick? Or am I well? Whatever. The fact is that for a few moments each day, I don't feel well. But nobody always feels well. I'm getting old and I have to deal with it.

I don't think anyone is all good or all bad. No one can be completely anything -- except Paris Hilton -- she's completely stupid. Oh, and Orlando Bloom -- he's completely hot. Oh, and my grandmother -- she's completely whacked.

I'm completely behind in school. I have to finish one of my three 15-pagers today. I need to get that one out of the way before I can start my Virginia Woolf paper. I have to have that one done by next weekend -- "Anti-imperialism in To the Lighthouse." Maybe Chris will help me get a catchy title for this. He's really good at that.

The cousins are coming next Sunday. They are all staying at Doug's. Serves him right. He builds a house with 4 bedrooms and 2 1/2 bathrooms, a gorgeous kitchen, a beautiful family room, living room, dining room, office, etc. Then, he lives there all by himself. He deserves the descent of the cousins upon his life -- all fucking 9 of them. Eric, his wife Anne-Marie, Julia, Lynn, her husband Harim, their daughter Ciela, James, Nancy Sara, Michael. Doug had to actually buy furniture. Hah! And he is going to have to buy cooking utensils -- and is going to have to cook. Again, Hah!

Ophelia is playing outside with Uncle Joe. She really loves the wind. She prances all over the back yard and chases the leaves. She has learned how to really play ball. She brings it back and drops it for us. Yeah! "Stick" doesn't work as well. She plays, "Let's growl at Momma and play keep away." I don't like this game so much. Damn Tally for teaching her this crappy-assed game.

Great. Joe came in and left her outside -- this warrants excessive yipping. Of course, the dog across the street, Bud, comes to see what is going on. Bud warrants excessive "big girl" barks. So we have, "Yip, yip, Woof, woof." And this goes on until I bring her in. She is so attached to people. She runs outside to pottie and then had to come back right away.

Michael is not well. He, too, has been having dizzy spells and leg weakness. It started a few days ago. The doctor told him it was just a virus. Mom, in her usual exaggeration of the medical situation, thinks that he has blown a blood vessel in his head. [Recall: Michael had a wart on his ear -- that was cancer, according to Mom. I had blurry vision -- that was a detached retina (of course, it was MS, which is bad, too, but ...). Cat had food poisoning -- that was a ruptured appendix -- wait, this isn't working -- Cat did have a ruptured appendix]. I'm worried about Michael.

Okay. I have to go. I have to finish a two-page paper on A Room of One's Own. Okay, okay. I have to start the paper. But it does have to be done today. So does my "Women in Local Color" paper.

Thank You for Being a Friend

I have been terribly busy of late. Actually, I've been terribly busy avoiding my duties as a student. Lia has been wonderful for the last few days -- the perfect dog. She snuggles; she plays; she listens when I tell her to "sit" and "stay." I'm not holding my breath. Sooner or later she'll piss me off again. But, in the meantime, she has been fun to hang out with. So, instead of doing my work ... I'm hanging out with my dog.

Tomorrow, though, I have to do a paper -- at least 1 of the 4 remaining papers. This one is due by Tuesday, dammit. It's on A Room of One's Own. I'm starting to really tire of Virginia Woolf and her melodramatic bullshit.

Then, on Sunday. I need to draft out my Local Color paper. I will probably have to go up to the library -- which is okay because then, maybe, I'll get a chance to stop by Robyn's apartment to drop off some of the stuff I saved for her out of my garage sale. I've got stuff for Albina, too, but I haven't made it to get that stuff to her. She called today to "cancel" our appointment for today -- that I had frankly forgotten about. Whoops. I am really getting scatterbrained of late. Okay, okay. I've always been scatterbrained, but that wasn't really a surprise to any (all three) of my regular readers.

I found a place on line to order my tea -- $32.00 a pound plus shipping. I'm not entirely sure I want or need a pound of a tea I save for guests considering that I get guests all of maybe once a month. My, how things have changed. I remember spending almost every evening in my apartment in Sugar Grove entertaining friends -- MIG, Albina & Stephanie, work friends from TGI Friday's, etc. I miss that -- but I'm just not in a position to entertain at my parents' house.

Speaking of that, my parents will be putting the house up on the market in the Spring. Joe is supposedly buying them a house where they can move while they get this one in order. Hmmm. Right. I will believe all of this when I see it. I am a bit irritated because if this all works out on schedule, we'll be moving in the middle of my Comps. Can I just say that this timing would really suck?

I had conferences with my students this week. I'm more than irritated because I have at least 10 students failing my class. One of these is a band girl who has missed something like 4 nights of the one night per week class for "band" stuff. She hasn't turned in any of her work. Every time I get a chance to speak with her about these problems she tells me that she has "computer problems." Bullshit. Plain and simple. Bullshit. There are something like 30 open computer labs on campus, each with anywhere from 30 to 100 computers available for student use. Several of these labs are open 24/7. I am so freaking irritated. She needs to pull her shit together and get it done. I am probably the easiest teacher on campus and I go above and beyond to help out. How anyone can fail my class is beyond me. Yet, students have managed to do just that every semester.

Dammit.

It's almost 11:00 and I'm tired. I spent all day glued to the Golden Girls marthon on Lifetime (that's right, John and Nadine -- I'm still watching Golden Girls -- and I'm not ashamed to admit it!) I've got to finally call it a night.

I Know I Never Posted This

I am sorry to those of you to whom I've already cried about this -- we had to put Dutch to sleep on the Friday of my garage sale. That afternoon, I came home and found him still laying where Doug had left him Friday morning. I think I am most upset that the poor dog suffered all day without anyone there.

My mother was bawling and called me to get me to come home because she could hear Dutch crying. I saw him and immediately burst into tears. I took all of the rest of Lia's Tiny Tots (really good treats) and sat on the floor hand feeding him every last one of them until Doug came home. He and Dad took him. They said it was sweet and that Dutch even licked Doug's face to tell him that it was okay.

He was a great dog who never hurt anyone. We miss him -- a lot. In my idea of Heaven, everyone we loved during our lives will be there -- Dutch is one of those and I'm certain that he is waiting for us in his own heaven where every bush is the perfect height for "watering" and there are cookies for him around every corner.