November 7: Happy Moments, Annual Evaluation, Observation

Billy stayed in the wagon when it reached the slaughterhouse, sunning himself.  The others were looking for souvenirs.  Later on in life, the Tralfamadorians would advise Billy to concentrate on the happy moments of his life, and to ignore the unhappy ones--to stare only at pretty things as eternity failed to go by.  If this sort of selectivity had been possible for Billy, he might have chosen as his happiest moment his sundrenched snooze in the back of the wagon. 

It's a good concept--focusing only on the happy moments of your life.  Nice advice from the Tralfamadorians.  It would help me get through the rest of this week, or at least tomorrow night. 

What is happening tomorrow night, you ask?  Well, it is time for my annual evaluation at the university.  That means a full-time faculty member sits in my classroom, watches the circus I put on for my students, and then leaves with his notes on my abilities (or lack of abilities) to teach.  It's a nerve racking experience, every year.

Now, I have never really received a bad evaluation, and the gentleman who is coming tomorrow night is very friendly and pleasant.  He wants to go out for beers with me to talk about writing Catholic poetry.  That doesn't help me get through the actual Big Brother experience of being observed. 

If you haven't noticed before--if you are new to this blog--I tend to be a little neurotic about things like this.  I will over plan, create a startling lesson this evening, so that I can feel calm and at ease tomorrow night.  I will have PowerPoint, maybe a video.  I might read poetry or stand on my head.  If it were the right kind of class, I would do a pole dance, too.  All for the hour or so of that observation.

And then tomorrow night, I will come home and have a very strong special hot chocolate.

In the mean time, Saint Marty is going to think of the happy moments of his life, as the Tralfamadorians advise.  Pizza.  Thanksgiving turkey.  Filet mignon.  Buttered movie popcorn.  A nap . . .