I'm at the point in the semester where I hate my life: grading season. Yes.
Ten percent of my students do wonderfully, but honestly they would do wonderfully without me. Ten percent are hopeless, and I spent 90% of my time working with them. The middle 80%, the ones I could help, end of getting short shrift because of that bottom ten percent. Honestly it's just depressing.
Why did I become an English professor? What was I thinking?
(This is a rant. Don't take me seriously.)
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