December 9: Late, Grading, Magic 8-Ball

It's quite late.  I got home about an hour-and-a-half ago.  I've been trying to work up the energy for doing this post.  I haven't been very successful.

I've been grading exams all day long.  I finished around 8:30 tonight.  All that's left to do is the math.  I think that why I'm so beat.  My mind has been doing overtime all day long.

I was talking to my office mate at the university this evening.  We were talking about the choices we've both made in our lives.  We're both parents of two kids.  Her sons are the same ages as my daughter and son.  And we're both contingent faculty at the university. That means neither of us can afford to get our kids anything for Christmas without going into debt.  Basically, we discussed the bad career choices we've made.  Teaching part-time at a university doesn't put a whole lot of food on the table.

That's are really good Magic 8-Ball question:

Am I an idiot for teaching part-time at the college?

And Holden's answer is:

"Well, no, not exactly.but I can usually get them on account of my heighth," I said...

So, Saint Marty is "not exactly" an idiot.  That's sort of like being "kind of" pregnant, isn't it?

I really am sleepy

December 7: Exam Paper, Grading, New Cartoon

"You glanced through it, eh?" he said--very sarcastic.  "Your, eh, exam paper is over there on top of my chiffoniere.  On top of the pile.  Bring it here, please."

Old Spencer really grills Holden about his exam paper.  Holden has failed Spencer's history class, and Spencer is trying to talk some sense into Holden before he leaves Pencey Prep for good.  Of course, Spencer makes no headway with Holden at all.  Spencer's simply too old for Holden to take seriously.

I have been grading my students' final exams all day long.  I took a couple short breaks to drive my daughter's friend home after the sleepover and to go to church this evening.  After I'm done typing this post, I'm going to get back to it.  I have to be done by Tuesday.

I don't have a new poem for you guys this evening.  I haven't had any time to be creative, aside from drawing a couple of cartoons.  I've also been busy trying to trap a mouse I spied yesterday morning in my bathroom.  Those of you who have been reading this blog for a while already know about my mouse phobia.  It's a strong phobia, bordering on absolute, irrational terror.  My wife has also seen the little bastard in the living room underneath the Christmas tree.  We're not talking about a cute, cartoon Christmas mouse.  This is a diseased, black-furred pest.

Saint Marty is ready to firebomb his house to kill a rodent.

Confessions of Saint Marty