Thursday, July 14, 2016

July 14: Air of Menace, Canceled Class, Drinking

Still, the day had an air of menace.  A broken whiskey bottle by the log, the brown tip of a snake's tail disappearing between two rocks on the hill at my back, the rabbit the dog nearly caught, the rabies I knew was in the county, the bees who kept unaccountably fumbling at my forehead with their furred feet . . .

By the sounds of that paragraph, I bet you can tell this is not going to be a post about gratitude.  Dillard sees danger and menace everywhere--snakes and scared rabbits and bees and rabid animals.  It's a part of the whole landscape of Tinker Creek.

Well, this evening when I got home, I opened my university e-mail and found a message from the English Department Head.  The message line was simply "fall course schedule."  I actually held my breath when I opened it.  With one little click, my entire fall teaching schedule changed.  It seems that, due to low enrollment, one of the Intro to Film classes I was supposed to teach is being canceled.  Instead, I have been offered an evening Intro to Composition class.  Papers.  Presentations.  Surly students who don't want to be in a classroom for three hours, discussing about writing.  Talk about menace and danger.

That also means that I will be teaching two evening classes on two consecutive nights.  It's going to be exhausting, especially since I have to be up for my other job at the medical office at 4:45 a.m.  In a way, I think I would rather face rabid raccoons or skunks.  At least there's a painful remedy for that problem.

Yes, I am whining.  Yes, I am being ungrateful.  At least I still have two classes to teach.  So, there's my attempt at gratitude tonight.  (I have had a couple bottles of Guinness, so that helps.)  After I am done ranting in this post, I am going to e-mail the English Department Head and accept the class.  Dammit.  I just need to be a little drunk to do it.

Saint Marty is already looking forward to the end of the fall semester, and it doesn't start for over a month-and-a-half.

Danger everywhere . . .

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