Fall semester: day eighty-one
All papers have been graded, scores calculated. The final exam has been given, graded, and final scores have been calculated. The final letter grades and percentages for my students have been calculated, recorded, and posted online to Banner, the university's grade system.
I am done. My latest semester as an English instructor at a (minor) American university in the midwest, at least, is over. All of my students' grades were uploaded before I left campus this evening, leaving my final exam in my Middle Eastern/Asian Lit course the last, and only, thing left for me to do this semester before I can finally call it over and done.
This was not a small task. I've been awake since shortly after 5AM taking care of all of these tasks, two different meetings, the actual proctoring of the final, and then the mad rush to get everything graded -- because, once one is halfway done grading, why stop working until it's completely done?
None of my students failed, except for the two who failed for absences long ago in the semester. There were a few who came damned close to not passing the class, within a point or two (literally), but they made it through due to their hard work on the last paper and their final exam. I am proud of my students, very proud indeed. It's the first semester I've taught where the only failures have been for absences. I can't tell you how remarkable that is, frankly, because that never happens. I was stunned. I can't wait to streamline the course over the winter break to make its timeframe go a little more smoothly and keep the work ticking along at a solid pace free from any hang-ups I had during my first time teaching the class this semester.
The department today was a veritable ghost town. Those of us who were there most of the day spent it grading or writing papers, and then after the final, all of us were grading in that mad dash to finish everything as soon as humanly possible, for those of us who could do so. I was paired with a third-year instructor (and brilliant fiction writer) who already graduated yesterday, so in order to get everything taken care of so that he could be done since...well, he already graduated, we attacked our exams together and had each others' copies graded within two hours. It was interesting, to say the least, but really no different than I've ever graded with anyone else before. He told me I must be an awesome instructor for my students to produce exams as good as they did, so that's a plus.
In other news, I received my long-dreaded Mrs Dalloway paper back today. It was in my mailbox this morning when I came in, and I was almost afraid to read the comments on it -- though, of course, I did anyway. My professor liked it, or at least liked it well-enough. He said that it was pretty solid work, though I could've used another source or quote here and there, and I could've focused a little more on a few aspects of one of the characters. He gave me an A- on it, which is still the highest score I've received in the class. As that paper is 40% of my grade in there, I'm guessing that I'll receive an A- as my final grade too. That's fine with me. The work is done; I've washed my hands of the entire debacle and am happy with that paper and that grade.
Suri, meanwhile, is still working on that paper for that class, and will be turning it in late. The poor girl is swamped this semester with all sorts of stuff to do, and I feel so bad for her; she barely gets any sleep as it is, she has a busy life with her boyfriend and his kids, and she's juggling grad school and teaching all in the midst of that too. Yet, through it all, she perseveres, and still has time to order not one, but two different birthday/Christmas gifts for me -- one for me, and one for my furry children, apparently, according to what she told me today. It's still coming in the mail. I still feel bad that I really have nothing to give her, nor do I have money to get her anything (I am so miserably broke right now). I'll have to make it up to her in the spring.
I was able to scrape the vast majority of the remaining E-6000 adhesive off my car window, and ended up pulling some of the (peeling) aftermarket window tint off with it. That stuff dries really hard and firm. That crisis was averted, at least; I was afraid that some of it would drip downward and glue my window shut. Luckily, it did not do so. However, on the way home tonight, the "low oil" light once more kicked on in the Monte Carlo, and I pulled into Walmart before coming home to pick up four quarts of oil (two regular, two high-mileage) a new bottle of antifreeze/coolant for the winter in case it starts leaking again, and a box of light bulbs for the house (because I'm down to my last one). The total was $36, and for the first time I used my Amazon Visa card. Might as well put a little bit of a balance on it to pay off later in full to help build my credit. After all -- again, see above -- I'm broke.
Of course, once I'd purchased these things and got back in the car to drive home, the "low oil" light had gone off. Figures.
Regardless, once I got home I performed engine surgery on my car, giving it a quart of oil and filling it with more coolant. It hasn't leaked any as of late, but making sure its levels are at their right amounts can only help. Hopefully that will help "winterize" the landboat that it is for the next few months. It's burning through a quart of oil every 500 miles or so, roughly (because every 500 miles the light will come on and I'll put another quart in), which isn't horrible, but it's also another sign that I need to get the car worked on/tuned up/etc, and soon. It's old and beat up, yes, but it's reliable as long as I can do my own patch-job preventative maintenance to it, like I did tonight. A real tune-up, of course, requires money that I don't have right now. When I get the oil changed -- probably shortly before spring semester starts -- it will more than likely go on the credit card. I hate the thought of that, but I can't really help it. My actual, accessible money has to go toward food, bills, and rent. Other stuff can get paid off as I am able to do so. It's a sad state of affairs being a poor graduate student, let me tell you. The real reason I don't shave, for example, is because I can't afford razors.
Okay, that last part is a lie. I love my beard.
This afternoon, I received this email from one of my current students who just took his exam today:
On average, while I don't like to brag about it really, I receive at least one or two of these emails from students at the end of every semester. It is emails like this one, folks, that make my life, my career choice of academia, and all of my hard work seem like it's totally worth it. Yes, there's a ton of academic bullshit involved with being a graduate student in general, let alone being a GTA. Yes, there are long hours, many of them lost poring through papers looking for errors and flow issues. Yes, many cups of coffee are consumed and many collective nights of sleep are lost. But it's the ability to affect students, the ability to get them to work, to think, and to learn how to appreciate their college education that is the most rewarding. I teach my students the way I wish I had been taught in undergrad -- with a fun, laid-back approach and vigorous class discussion, but I also make sure they don't slouch and do their assignments. I want them to enjoy it. I want them to test themselves, to learn something about themselves, to break whatever limits they had in their minds about what they may have been capable of in an English composition course. It's not exactly an "O Captain, My Captain" moment, but it's close enough for me.
It's emails like that, however short, that make me realize that maybe I wouldn't be so bad off teaching composition for the rest of my life if that's the hand the cards end up dealing me. I can live with that. It may not be high-paying or glamorous, but it makes me feel like I'm doing something good. Like I'm doing something positive with my life that means something. Few people ever get that sort of satisfaction from what they do, even by the time they reach retirement age. I've had that satisfaction many times, and I'm not even thirty. I am much more fortunate than I know.
On that note, folks, I shall leave you. I plan to sleep until noon tomorrow. It is a good plan, a solid plan, and I am proud of it.
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