April 6: Spring Break, Self Doubt, "Ives" Dip

My kids are on spring break this week.  That means no school, no religion class, no dance classes.  My son slept until 8 a.m. today.  My daughter got up around noon.  Currently, she's nested in my bed with her Nintendo DS and Kindle.  When I'm done with this post, she will undoubtedly lay claim to my laptop for the rest of the night.  My son will undoubtedly bridle at a bedtime that occurs before the sun sets and the moon is sitting high in the stars.

Me--I have a butt-load of work to do this week.  Exams and papers to grade.  Poems to review.  My kids may be basking on the beaches of academic recess, but I'm drowning in a cesspool of red ink (actually pencil lead--I haven't graded in red since a student accused me of bleeding all over his test).  I have a lot of professional anxiety when it comes to grading students.  Being a contingent faculty member at a university does not provide a person with a whole lot of confidence.  It's sort of like always being on probation.  I constantly worry whether or not I will be offered another contract.

It's a rather exhausting existence.  There's no tenure.  No protection.  Course assignments and rankings are conducted like a paper conclave.  Contingents just wait to see if there's going to be white smoke in their futures.  This leads to a lot of self doubt.  One semester, I'm teaching a graduate-level poetry workshop.  The next semester, I'm back to freshman composition (not that I have anything against teaching composition--it's one of the most important classes a person takes).  I find myself constantly questioning my self worth.  That's my life, semester-by-semester.

Tonight's Ives dip question is about this conundrum:

Will I ever have a secure, full-time teaching position at the university?

And the answer from Ives is:

...Her "goodness" was something of a curse.  As a person of principle, who had put many years into her efforts, [Annie Ives] could not turn her back on anything.  And yet, at the same time, she had become caustic in her approach to teaching--it took her a long time but the old indifference of the system had caught up to her.

My "goodness" is a curse.  I'm a person of principle who has put many years into my teaching at the university.  I can't turn my back on anything.  And yet, at the same time, I have become caustic in my approach to teaching--it took me a long time but the old indifference of the system has caught up to me.


Saint Marty agrees with the goodness and indifference of the system parts.  He's not too caustic yet, though.  Maybe next semester.

Maybe 75% kick-ass, 25% self-doubt

September 24: Growling, Drawing and Writing, Absent Father

Soon Ross was growling at Thurber, "How the hell did you get the idea you could draw?"

The publisher of The New Yorker, Harold Ross, did not like the cartoons of James Thurber.  In fact, he hated Thurber's drawings, as evidenced by the quote above.  Of course, in retrospect, everyone knows that Thurber became famous for his artistic talent, in particular his New Yorker cartoons.

I am my own Harold Ross.  Every time I write a blog post or write a poem or draw a Confessions of Saint Marty, I hear that Ross voice in my head hissing, "How the hell did you get the idea you could write or draw?!"  Self-doubt is my constant companion.  And, with every rejection I receive, that Ross voice gets louder and louder.

It spills over into other parts of my life, as well.  I question myself in the medical office.  I question myself as a husband.  As a father.  I tend to focus on my failings as opposed to my successes.  For instance, every night that I'm away from home, teaching or working, I go into my son's bedroom when I get home and look at him in his bed.  For two days straight, I barely see him.  On Wednesday nights, he's comatose when I leave the house and comatose when I return.  The term "absent father" comes to mind.  Staring down at his little sleeping form, I feel like a complete failure.

That's where I am tonight.  In the failure zone.

Maybe Saint Marty should drink some hot chocolate with Kahlua.  Then he can be a drunken failure.

I think Thurber can draw