The end of the term doesn't necessarily precipitate odd occurrences. But when it comes to student behavior, the end of the term can bring the perplexing. For example, two students failed to show up for finals. One was sick, I heard, but what happened to the other? Not a word. For all I know, she's dead in the bushes outside the front door, surrounded by the scattered soggy pages of her 10-key math practice test. We'll find her weary bones next spring, long after we've forgotten her name. It is confounding to me that a student trudges through ten weeks and then bails on the last day. Is it failure to launch again? I'm always confounded when students choose to miss a class, but to miss the final, and not even call? That is beyond bizarre in my world. I suppose in the world of a student who is afraid to leave school, it makes perfect sense.
Speaking of being afraid to leave school, my dissertation chairperson sent me three comments from the faceless, nameless committee. First, he/she/it/they asked me to add some clarity on the problem statement. Spell it out: The problem is... Be specific—make it easy for these weary reviewers to locate the problem. (In other words, don't expect them to think much.) Second, please add more subheads to the literature review section, to make it easier to read. No problem. I had lots of friendly subheadings in there, originally, but a comment from the chairperson led me to believe I wasn't following the template, so I took them out. Easy fix. And third, do I need all three subgroups (faculty, students, and administrators?) Here is where I want to whimper a little. My original draft, the one that was rejected from the Graduate School reviewers, was dinged for using only one group and not justifying why. Now I have three groups, and they want to know could I get by with one. Read my lips.
Last week I had a great schedule for next term. However, I've learned from hard experience to never get attached to a schedule. It unraveled, and now I'm going back to Wilsonville two mornings a week to teach a management class with four students and a marketing class with two students. Really? All that exorbitant gas consumption for six students? Teaching early classes means I must leave an hour early to drive the 25 miles in rush hour traffic. That means I must set the alarm for 5:15 a.m., not my best time on any morning, but definitely not after I've been working till 10:20 p.m. the night before. The theme of this new term will be sleep-deprivation.
And to top it all off, get this: Dave Brubeck died on Wednesday, so I had to listen to Take Five 20 times in one day. On Thursday Fitz got shot over and over in slow motion. And someone stole the head of the baby jesus! So what's the interconnection between students failing to show up, schedules turning to shite, reviewers making annoying comments on my concept paper, the death of a jazz legend, a TV show character, and the baby jesus? I don't know. Maybe you can figure it out. My enneagram type is 5: The Observer. That means I just sit back and watch you do all the work. So get busy.
I've caught myself a few times trying to work up a head of resentment at the schedule, the students, the life, but I just don't have the energy for it. Then someone steals the head of the baby jesus, and life is hilariously worth living again. Besides, anger solves nothing. I'm not a slave, right? I'm a volunteer. Until I'm ready to leave this sinking career college ship, I'm choosing to bail its dark and stinky hold. And daydream of what comes next. (Sleep. Lots of sleep.) I just hope I don't crash my Focus somewhere on the dark and lonely stretch of I-205 between Oregon City and Wilsonville, where you sometimes see deer legs poking stiffly up out of the ditch. If that happens, I can only hope they find me before spring.
