End of Semester Blues

Full of anticipation for Spring Break, I enter what I fantasize will be the last leg of the grading relay only to notice myself idly surfing the web about an hour after confirming an act of plagiarism in the first student’s paper. We are both only human.

Having shifted directions psychologically, I am now running into the wind, instead of experiencing the tailwind I’d hoped for. Must soldier on. Why does it seem to take so much out of me every time this happens? Why do I persist in the notion that kids educated in Vegas get ethics lessons along with their Three Rs? This kid from the Bronx didn’t.

Why do I continue to believe that what is written in the syllabus, is not only read and understood, but translates the very same semester into actionable knowledge? What will it take for me to allow patience to have her perfect work and appreciate in theory and in practice the great wisdom popularized by Mark Twain but earliest attributed to the timeless Sufi teacher Mulla Idris Nasrudin:

Good judgment comes from experience. Experience comes from bad judgment.

While I recover, I jot notes for the first lecture in the Preparatory Composition class that begins after break, new swimming metaphor and all. I write this blog entry in lieu of feeding the hunger that is only 30% emotional, reactive. I call my husband who today is just around the corner, wondering if he’s up for lunch, beautiful day that it is, despite the internal and dispersing clouds.

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