Teaching summer session, even with the kid at her grandparents, is kicking my ass. I've got two classes, back to back, one at ten and one at noon -- 25 students in the comp class, fourteen in the WLIT I class -- five days a week, two hours a day per class, and I absolutely can do nothing else but the classes. I mean, I start at seven in the morning: get up then, drive in to campus, make coffee, start the prep work, *barely* finish in time for the 10.00 class to start, teach straight through to the 2:00 class (my office hour is from 9:00-10:00 and I always have students coming in for it), go home, eat something while I read the WLIT assignment (mr. delagar brooding moodily across the table from me), prep on afterwards, maybe get some dinner later, *maybe* if I finished early have an hour or two to spend with him, but usually not, usually it's nine or ten o'clock at night and I'm huddled up in bed scuffling through the books on my nightstand, trying to stay awake long enough to read something that's not for my classes -- I'm reading Brideshead Revisited right now, because I never did, an Perdido Street Station, a very odd mix, I must say, also Sheri Tepper's new book -- but I generally can't get more than a page down before I fall asleep.
Writing? What's that?
Well, the weekend is almost here.
And maybe Summer II will be easier.