Sixty-six final drafts sit in my bag, waiting patiently to be graded.  Trouble is, I just don’t feel like it.  I don’t want to delve into their mutilation of MLA style or their floundering sentence structure.  I want to sit in the glow of the desk lamps and the computer screens, sip my latte and quietly reflect.

I don’t so much mind whether I reflect on my own life, the happenings in the daily news or the history of history that I am reading for my classes.  But I want my dialog to be internal, not scrawled across my students’ papers in orange ink.

Reflection, I have found, functions as a different type of doing.  It is working on myself, shifting, settling.  Sometimes reflection becomes even more important than the constant quest to check things off the “To Do” list.

(This post brought to you by the quest for justifiable procrastination)

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