Call Me Senorita Spaz…

Why, oh why, is it necessary for me to get so worked up before the first day of class that I am a shivering, whimpering mess on the morning of the first day of the semester? Shouldn’t I be, I don’t know, emitting positive energy or something? Fortunately, by the end of the first five minutes of my first class, the doom and gloom had lifted. I was my spunky, if not slightly distractable, self.

I did notice that, when going through the syllabus on the first day, I sound rather like a raging bitch. Mean. A whole list of “Don’t Ever Do This… Lest You Piss Me Off”… Which is usually fine. I typically play a little game where I try to get as many kids to drop the first week as possible. I know… devious. But it means more manageable class size. The difference between grading for 18 and grading for 22 is astounding. They. write. all. the. time.

Anyway, this semester God forbid any of them drop. Enrollment is down, and the English Department has already closed many sections. I need to hang on to every one I can! But I explained to them how much they will like me down the road. I mean, I am totally cool. And having students who took my class last semester and were clammering to spend one more semester with me really give me some street cred. Or something like that.

I think I will love teaching four sections instead of five. Right now, I am scrambling to find extra work to make up the pay from my missing section. There is an editing job that, if I can manage the Chicago Style Manual (15th edition), I think is mine. No, I have never even seen the Chicago Style Manual. Yes, I think I can pull it off.* Safe to say my optimism has returned? I thought so.

*I will have a copy of the manual with me when I take the editing test.

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