It's the beginning of the semester again, the time of the year when I feel most like Sisyphus at the bottom of the hill. Oh, crap, I'm thinking. There's that rock again.
I love teaching. I love English. I love what I do. As I told my freshmen students on Wednesday morning, words are my business, and I love the whole business of words. It's just this first week, standing on the threshhold of the semester, when I'm thinking, good crap, don't these little fuckers know Chaucer yet? I mean, I've been teaching freshman comp, what, fifteen *years* now? Surely they know how to write by NOW?
Or, you know, Dickens. Must I explain Dickens AGAIN? Or World Lit II. Monkey. Reading Monkey. Surely you little trolls get the whole business about Buddha and all-suffering-arises-from-desire so stop with the fucking desiring already by NOW?
If you don't, hell, go find some of my old students. Ask them. I'm going for coffee.
Rock? What rock?
10 hours ago