Not A Good Weekend
Which sounds like I'm going start reporting yet another return of the black fog, but no, I'm psychologically quite fit. (Not "as a fiddle," of course, and what the hell does that mean, anyway? Is there some reason a cello is out-of-shape? And what about something not even in the strings section--somebody tell me why a baritone sax isn't fit, pray?)
But no, it's just the damned grading. Endless. Sisyphean. It's weekends like this that I wish I'd gone into physics. Lucky bastards only have scan-trons to grade. Drop the sheet in the slot and wait for the grade to pop out. (I know, I know, there are science-types out there getting irate and saying, "It's not like that at all--our work is hard and our grading sucks too!" But let me indulge in my mopish fantasy, all right, guys?) But paper after paper after paper discussing the exact same plot point of the exact same novel (did I mention that the plot point is a suicide? yeah, that's an added plus)--it's got me listening to Depeche Mode's "Blasphemous Rumors" and Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" on my Ipod and getting really, really into them--I should add "Mad World" and just be done with it all, I suppose.
Anyway, so, this weekend sucks. And no, I haven't heard anything. The phrase "They shoot horses, don't they?" comes to mind...(And no, I repeat, I'm not depressed. I'm just reacting quite sensibly to a serious of rotten concurrences. Actually, it's kind of refreshing to look around and know that my cranky morbidity is actually coming from outside my own head. Nice thing, sanity.)
But no, it's just the damned grading. Endless. Sisyphean. It's weekends like this that I wish I'd gone into physics. Lucky bastards only have scan-trons to grade. Drop the sheet in the slot and wait for the grade to pop out. (I know, I know, there are science-types out there getting irate and saying, "It's not like that at all--our work is hard and our grading sucks too!" But let me indulge in my mopish fantasy, all right, guys?) But paper after paper after paper discussing the exact same plot point of the exact same novel (did I mention that the plot point is a suicide? yeah, that's an added plus)--it's got me listening to Depeche Mode's "Blasphemous Rumors" and Pink Floyd's "Comfortably Numb" on my Ipod and getting really, really into them--I should add "Mad World" and just be done with it all, I suppose.
Anyway, so, this weekend sucks. And no, I haven't heard anything. The phrase "They shoot horses, don't they?" comes to mind...(And no, I repeat, I'm not depressed. I'm just reacting quite sensibly to a serious of rotten concurrences. Actually, it's kind of refreshing to look around and know that my cranky morbidity is actually coming from outside my own head. Nice thing, sanity.)
posted by Yr. Hmbl. & Obdt. | 2:54 PM
3 Comments:
I love Physics! We're generally quite pleased when we all get the same answer, so grading does seem a bit simpler. There's also the benefit of drawing pretty pictures! And not worrying about punctuation or correct use of language (though apparently that's not a big concern for your students either).
To your credit, life can't be all bad in the presence of an iPod. It's just not possible. Hang in there, Dryden. This too shall pass.
Good to have you back, Dryden. I mean, where would we be without our resident cheerful, morbid curmudgeon?
We're all in this together... (Oh no, Peabo Bryson! Get out of my head!)
Be well... oh, and finish with the grading already!
Dude, here I am jealous that you not only own an iPod, but also have presumably downloaded songs from iTunes. What a carefree life you live! . . . see, it's all a matter of perspective.
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