This time of year means stress upon stress.
This time of year can take it the hell back.
So many things happening all around that I can’t concentrate, can’t think about what comes next or how to get through it. My grandfather always said that things can only get better after they hit the breaking point (how low can they get, really). I hope the man was right.
Current concerns of the week:
It’s hurricane season here, and as predicted, there’s another goddamned hurricane on its way towards my state, itching to uproot all the trees, rip off all the roofs, take down all the utilities, flood all the streets, make us all batshit over gas and water. All of us here hope the eye of it is over the Atlantic, but it’s such a huge mass, its cone expansive, covering the bulk of my area of the state. We’ve been through such hell before having been battered by the three amigos — Charlie, Francis, and Jeanne — back in 2004. When Charlie, the first, had hit, I’d been in the area for only a year then and was staying with my grandparents while I searched for full-time work (I was working as an adjunct instructor at my school at the time). My great uncle and aunt from Tampa had made a trip to our house because weather crews predicted Charlie would strike the west coast. However, as fate would cruelly have it, Charlie took a detour and struck central Florida instead, so poor aunt and uncle were stuck with us in a house with no working utilities until the roads cleared and it was safe for them to go home. Hurricane Matthew looks as if it will be a mere bitchslap to us right now. Still, it will smart and leave quite a mark. They always do. And my insurance lapsed awhile back. Great. Just great. Well…at least my car is still insured. I can always live out of my car…with a cat…in a confined space…
I was supposed to be going to a yearly horror convention in Orlando this weekend, but it’s been canceled due to obvious reasons. My guy was to be on several writer panels, and I come along to bother celebrities (last year it was Julian Sands, and yes, he was as suave as he is onscreen) and give him my support when possible. It’s a downer though, all hurricanes aside. I would have had to bring papers to grade. It wouldn’t get done otherwise because that’s just how I roll. I hate grading more than anything, even more than paying bills and dealing with Trump supporters.
Speaking of Trump supporters, no matter what anyone may think of Hillary Clinton and her ties to mega-corporations (the Benghazi and email server issues are mere talking points now), all of the politicos are connected somehow. And that’s not what troubles me right now. At the moment, I’m concerned about the very idea that there are women in my country who will be voting for a blatant misogynist because they can’t stand Clinton. It’s that bizarre mindset where they’re voting against their own self-interests and also cutting off their noses to spite their faces and all that. I’m no psychologist or psychiatrist, but I even wonder if what’s happening to them is just another variation of Stockholm Syndrome.
I just can’t imagine ANYONE voting for Trump though. He’s a petulant manbaby who’s proven many times over to be incapable of making conscientious, rational decisions.
As the editors of The Atlantic have noted in their endorsement editorial: “Donald Trump… has no record of public service and no qualifications for public office. His affect is that of an infomercial huckster; he traffics in conspiracy theories and racist invective; he is appallingly sexist; he is erratic, secretive, and xenophobic; he expresses admiration for authoritarian rulers, and evinces authoritarian tendencies himself. He is easily goaded, a poor quality for someone seeking control of America’s nuclear arsenal. He is an enemy of fact-based discourse; he is ignorant of, and indifferent to, the Constitution; he appears not to read.”
I couldn’t have worded it any better than that.
Work-wise, I’ve taken on too much this term already. I’m prepping for the DVAM donation drive and open mic event, attempting to teach 125 bored students, trying to get all the paperwork done for the budding authors who want a creative writing club on our campus, mentoring an adjunct who is teaching on another campus, forcing myself to be involved in tiresome campus committee work; oh, and grading so many essays…so many papers…revising so many lessons…
AND…AND…then there’s my first official disciplinary action towards a student. I have been teaching college composition for 14 years now, and I’ve never had to turn in a report about a student’s behavior, ever. That even includes the time a student threw a desk at another student in a class I had eight years ago. I didn’t have to fill out anything because 1) Thank God, his aim was shitty, 2) Security had him leave anyway, and 3) He then withdrew from the school altogether. In other words, the work was already done for me. Anyway, I’ve had my share of arrogant jocks, arrogant jerks, arrogant jerk-jocks, arrogant mean girls, arrogant girl meanies, and the quietly dangerous, sure, but I’ve always been able to deal with them on my own. This time though, I can’t take this particular student’s childishness anymore.
Anyway, I have to sign off now. The winds are nuts outside.