Thursday, April 28, 2016

April 28: Imbecility, Morning Post, Marching and Marching

In the chill of the next morning they are deadly still; when they rouse themselves, however, they resume what Fabre calls their "imbecility."  They slog along all day, head to tail. . . . 

Dillard is writing about a group of moth caterpillars, who form themselves into a circular procession around the rim of a vase.  The caterpillars keep marching in the circle, and they keep marching and marching.  And marching.  And marching.  That is what Fabre terms their "imbecility."  After a night of dormancy, they just pick up their circular parade again.

Good morning.  I have not been abducted by a drug cartel, suffered some brain episode, or abandoned this blog.  I was correcting papers and final exams for two days.  While I have not completed all of my end-of-semester work, I have a little time to breathe right now.  A few days to finish things up.  But I do sort of feel like one of those caterpillars--marching all day, going dormant for a little while, then waking up and doing it all over again.  Day after day.

I know that I haven't posted in the morning for quite some time, but I wanted to let my two Constant Readers know that I am still here.  In a few minutes, I will pack up my messenger bag (yes, I carry a man purse, as my daughter calls it) and head off to work at the medical office.  On my way, I will stop to buy a Diet Mountain Dew.  A big one.  I'm a little tired right now.

Yesterday evening, I taught my last evening class of the semester.  It was with a group of students who have been with me for a full year.  They took first semester composition with me in the fall, and then they signed up for second semester composition with me this winter.  They have been a great group of kids to work with.  Always funny, forgiving, and supportive.  I'm actually going to miss them quite a bit.

So, I am a little melancholy this a.m.  The end of a school year always depresses me a little bit.  But, everything ends.  Semesters.  Books.  Jobs.  That's the way things are.  Unless you're a caterpillar.

Saint Marty needs to start his daily march now.  He'll keep marching and marching and marching . . . .
I'm a monarch . . .

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