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wordinistaI'm trying to be a good LJ'er, so I'm writing even though I'm ready to fall over and sleep.
This time of year is usually stressful -- final exams to make up, final research papers to grade, final grades to calculate... it's more work than it sounds (and if it sounds like a lot of work, it's still more work than it sounds). I frequently have a very short fuse this time of year. I usually have a very long fuse. I have, in fact, been told (by... quite a few people) that I'm too nice. Translation: "Pushover."
So it was probably a surprise when I walked out of my Comp I class Monday morning. Habitual lateness and ill-preparedness took its toll, and I essentially said, "Fuck it. I'm done wasting my time." (Metaphorically said it -- not literally.) Of course, my department chair told me I shouldn't walk out of class, and I suppose he's right; however, I know every faculty member has done it at least once. Hell, I've been in classes where teachers have walked out. And, having been a student, I know it's pretty damned effective. Particularly when it's a teacher who's usually in a very good mood.
So I had a long, cranky day on Monday, made worse by home-related things. We're engaged in a never-ending battle over two things in my house. The volume of the TV and the temperature on the A/C. You see, we have a server in our house. More to the point, we have a server in our bedroom. Normal computers put off a buttload of heat. Servers put off MORE heat. So, our room is ALWAYS hot. Lately we've taken to keeping the window open (computer is near window) so the hot air will escape out the window. Well, this inevitably leads to "discussions" about energy. Mom insists that if we just leave our bedroom door open (all the time), the room will cool off.
Shyeah, right. Tried it. Doesn't work. Room = hot and that means Kara = cranky. And, gods, let's not even get into how cranky George gets.
Basically, a bad day at work was followed up by a return to a hot-as-hell house, a mess in the kitchen, three loads of clean laundry not folded (and at least four loads backed up in the laundry room), and my grandfather ("hard of hearing" is an understatement) with the TV volume up so high, the stuff on the walls was shaking.
Did I mention that I had to make dinner?
*thinks*
You know, I know I made dinner Monday night, but I'll be goddamned if I can remember what I made. Oh! I remember! Spaghetti and meatless meatballs (soooo good). Okay. So, made dinner, cleaned up, and discussed our move-out options with George.
I'm tired. I'm so, so damned tired of being the only one around here doing any housework at all. And, hell, with George commuting an hour to work (and an hour home), I'm not gonna ask him to do stuff. Because, frankly, I wouldn't want to be asked.
And I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm being taken advantage of. Mom's arm hurts -- I know it hurts... but it does not pass my attention that, for someone in a great deal of pain, she manages to find the fortitude to do the things she WANTS to do.
Like... weed the garden, just as a for-instance.
But I'm starting to find that if I don't do something, it simply doesn't get done. Dishes, laundry, dinner... it's getting ridiculous. For example, Tuesdays and Thursdays, I don't teach. Ideally, these are days reserved for grading. Ours isn't an ideal world, and I usually wind up doing other errands in addition to trying to grade. But today... today, I stayed busy from 10:00 am to 9:00 pm. Catching up on laundry, cleaning the bathroom, doing the dishes, going out and picking up my grandfather's prescriptions, going to the auto parts store for windshield wiper blades for Mom's car, going to the bank (for Mom), and going to the grocery store (to pick up the things Mom forgot to include on her list when G & I went over the weekend). I came home from my foray out and got one folder of papers graded before I had to make dinner -- hamburgers.
And, do you know, George told me that when I informed Mom and Grampa that they'd be dressing their own burgers (cheese, ketchup, whatnot)... he said she "made a face." I do not know what "made a face" translates out to visually, but George was in a rare state, so I'm going to assume there was a rolling of the eyes or something to that effect.
And so, after dinner, I cleaned up, and got to recording grades. Add to this a particularly difficult student suggesting to me in an email that I "don't realize" that those students pay to attend my class. (The class I walked out of.) Yeah, they care so much that they're paying that they blow off class and wander in fifteen minutes late. (The irony? This student hadn't even SHOWN UP to class on Monday.)
I finally finished everything up at 9:00. Okay, so not EVERYTHING. I still have two folders full of papers to grade before Monday. *sob*
I'm frustrated and tired and so, so ready for the semester to end. I've already decided that OGAM is just going to have to wait until the semester's over. I can barely think straight, much less WRITE.
...I think I'm going to get my tattoo this weekend. I need to cut loose.
This time of year is usually stressful -- final exams to make up, final research papers to grade, final grades to calculate... it's more work than it sounds (and if it sounds like a lot of work, it's still more work than it sounds). I frequently have a very short fuse this time of year. I usually have a very long fuse. I have, in fact, been told (by... quite a few people) that I'm too nice. Translation: "Pushover."
So it was probably a surprise when I walked out of my Comp I class Monday morning. Habitual lateness and ill-preparedness took its toll, and I essentially said, "Fuck it. I'm done wasting my time." (Metaphorically said it -- not literally.) Of course, my department chair told me I shouldn't walk out of class, and I suppose he's right; however, I know every faculty member has done it at least once. Hell, I've been in classes where teachers have walked out. And, having been a student, I know it's pretty damned effective. Particularly when it's a teacher who's usually in a very good mood.
So I had a long, cranky day on Monday, made worse by home-related things. We're engaged in a never-ending battle over two things in my house. The volume of the TV and the temperature on the A/C. You see, we have a server in our house. More to the point, we have a server in our bedroom. Normal computers put off a buttload of heat. Servers put off MORE heat. So, our room is ALWAYS hot. Lately we've taken to keeping the window open (computer is near window) so the hot air will escape out the window. Well, this inevitably leads to "discussions" about energy. Mom insists that if we just leave our bedroom door open (all the time), the room will cool off.
Shyeah, right. Tried it. Doesn't work. Room = hot and that means Kara = cranky. And, gods, let's not even get into how cranky George gets.
Basically, a bad day at work was followed up by a return to a hot-as-hell house, a mess in the kitchen, three loads of clean laundry not folded (and at least four loads backed up in the laundry room), and my grandfather ("hard of hearing" is an understatement) with the TV volume up so high, the stuff on the walls was shaking.
Did I mention that I had to make dinner?
*thinks*
You know, I know I made dinner Monday night, but I'll be goddamned if I can remember what I made. Oh! I remember! Spaghetti and meatless meatballs (soooo good). Okay. So, made dinner, cleaned up, and discussed our move-out options with George.
I'm tired. I'm so, so damned tired of being the only one around here doing any housework at all. And, hell, with George commuting an hour to work (and an hour home), I'm not gonna ask him to do stuff. Because, frankly, I wouldn't want to be asked.
And I'm starting to get the feeling that I'm being taken advantage of. Mom's arm hurts -- I know it hurts... but it does not pass my attention that, for someone in a great deal of pain, she manages to find the fortitude to do the things she WANTS to do.
Like... weed the garden, just as a for-instance.
But I'm starting to find that if I don't do something, it simply doesn't get done. Dishes, laundry, dinner... it's getting ridiculous. For example, Tuesdays and Thursdays, I don't teach. Ideally, these are days reserved for grading. Ours isn't an ideal world, and I usually wind up doing other errands in addition to trying to grade. But today... today, I stayed busy from 10:00 am to 9:00 pm. Catching up on laundry, cleaning the bathroom, doing the dishes, going out and picking up my grandfather's prescriptions, going to the auto parts store for windshield wiper blades for Mom's car, going to the bank (for Mom), and going to the grocery store (to pick up the things Mom forgot to include on her list when G & I went over the weekend). I came home from my foray out and got one folder of papers graded before I had to make dinner -- hamburgers.
And, do you know, George told me that when I informed Mom and Grampa that they'd be dressing their own burgers (cheese, ketchup, whatnot)... he said she "made a face." I do not know what "made a face" translates out to visually, but George was in a rare state, so I'm going to assume there was a rolling of the eyes or something to that effect.
And so, after dinner, I cleaned up, and got to recording grades. Add to this a particularly difficult student suggesting to me in an email that I "don't realize" that those students pay to attend my class. (The class I walked out of.) Yeah, they care so much that they're paying that they blow off class and wander in fifteen minutes late. (The irony? This student hadn't even SHOWN UP to class on Monday.)
I finally finished everything up at 9:00. Okay, so not EVERYTHING. I still have two folders full of papers to grade before Monday. *sob*
I'm frustrated and tired and so, so ready for the semester to end. I've already decided that OGAM is just going to have to wait until the semester's over. I can barely think straight, much less WRITE.
...I think I'm going to get my tattoo this weekend. I need to cut loose.
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no subject
Date: 2004-04-28 06:56 am (UTC)I bet you can't wait to get your own place -- seriously, that's going to rock. :)
no subject
Date: 2004-04-28 09:31 am (UTC)And, no, I CAN'T wait to get our own place! It's SERIOUSLY going to rock. I. Cannot. WAIT. *twitch*
no subject
Date: 2004-04-28 10:48 am (UTC)I know I'd be so red in the face if that was me -- my art history professor screamed at a student once who came in late and just happened to sit behind me; I got all scared thinking he was directing his anger at me, but no, it was the person behind me ;)