I'm in another unaccountably good mood. That makes two in one week. I don't know what's going on. Usually, I'm not this positive of a person. Ask anyone who knows me. If you walked up to one of my best friends and said, "Give me one adjective to describe Saint Marty," my friend may come up with several possibilities.
Loyal.
Funny.
Dark.
Twisted.
Creative.
Loving. I could go on, but I can guarantee you that
positive would not be one of my friend's adjectives. But, here I sit, good mood and all.
 |
| I'm just faking it... |
It's the end of another week of teaching. I've fooled my students again. They still think I know what the hell I'm talking about. It's a terrible thing, sometimes, to always feel like a fraud. The longer I've taught college-level writing and literature (and I've been at it for more than half of my adult life), the more I've realized that I don't know anything. It's not an uncommon to feel this way, I think. If you surveyed a lot of college professors (the real ones--the adjuncts--who teach all the crap courses), I'd bet a majority of them would make a confession similar to the one I just made. This streak of low self-esteem keeps me on my toes as an instructor. I always have more I can learn.
If you're wondering about Project Memoir, I can tell you that I plan to start writing my first chapter tonight. I just have to cull through the material I have already written in my journals. There should be a lot of writing from which to draw. If I'm going to get a chapter finished by Sunday, however, I really need to get my ass in gear. That's one of my projects for tonight.
Lent is breathing down Saint Marty's neck.
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