Feels like seventh grade all over again...

...but not in the petty, awkward way. It feels like seventh grade in that "I don't wanna go to school" sort of way that hit me heaviest in middle school.

So I was thinking I'd spend a bit of time today writing about "Bionic Woman" - how often do you get to make jokes involving Donna Haraway? And wouldn't it be worth pausing to think about the moment in the show where the little girl sees our new Jamie Sommers running as fast as the family SUV and tells her mother, only to be accuses of lying, allowing her to offer the response that she just thought it was cool because she didn't know women could do that.

But I'm too tired.

I know I've been away from the blog a bit, and that's been largely due to workload. About a third of our term is done, which is nice because that means it isn't slow and agonizing, but it's also meant a lot of juggling. And the job search takes a lot of energy. I knew this. I just managed to ignore it somehow. There's a lot of silly planning to that, too, that I've mentioned already (though for those curious, the consensus seems to be that sending a CD application packet is a bad idea - I've even called two of the schools - one more hole in the idea of a "paperless society").

But a big part of the desire to hide out in bed is that the charm of teaching students on both sides of the door - freshmen coming in and seniors going out - is starting to wear off. And a lot of that is due to conversations with colleagues (though there is a fair bit of cognitive dissonance that goes along with it as well). Yesterday another professor who I often seem to find myself teaching behind stopped to chat as I got the room up and running. And when she found out the class was primarily freshmen, she tutted (honestly, who knew anyone outside of mothers in Jane Austen novels ever really made that sound) and offered her sympathies.

You'd think I'd be better at ignoring these moments by now. I like my freshmen. They're a bit chaotic, but then, so am I. They want to talk and ask questions. They don't have the rust and jade my seniors do. They're intrigued that they can say things they've never felt safe or allowed to say. So what if they haven't figured out that all the new freedom is a blessing and a curse? Isn't that part of our job?


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