It’s taking me a good bit of time to settle into my office this morning. Even though summer classes are *finally* over and my grades are mostly done, I’m still buried under a big ass pile of administrative crap. I’m determined to use my big shovel and get a chunk done today, but really, here it is, my last day of freedom, and I’m stuck in my office, looking out the window at the horrible construction project behind my building.
Poor me.
Of course, I can’t complain too much. The Coach and I went out for Indian food yesterday, then watched movie at two different MegoPlex Theatres. Yes, I will admit that we went to see The House Bunny, which was cute in a Happy Madison Productions kind of way. It certainly wasn’t high cinema, but it did make me laugh my ass off — so fuck the critics. As for the art house movie, I thought Harry Poole is Here was actually kind of sweet. But then, I loves me some Luke Wilson and I really enjoy watching quirky films.
I also picked up my new glasses. Damn, but those sunglasses are heavy because my lenses are big and fat and weighty. They do the job though — nothing is getting into my eye with those on! I even drove my car with the top down for the first time in weeks. Yippee! My new inside classes are pretty darned cute in a muted cat’s eye kinda’ way.
One final story and then I will have to actually get to work. On Friday, I made a girl cry. I should probably wear this like a badge of honor. Or maybe I should just buy a box of Kleenex for my office. All I did was tell her that she was smart, but her grades don’t reflect it because she doesn’t come to class or turn crap in. Getting the highest grade on the final exam isn’t going to save her. I was nice. I didn’t give her the speech that I would give my own (hypothetical) child which would have been along the lines of “stop wasting your fucking life!” — and she still cried.
Oh dear.
I should probably grade her makeup exam to see if she actually flunked the class, but I’m going to wait and do it on Monday. I’m mean that way. She needs to panic a bit. It might actually do her some good. Either that, or the girl needs to go to the counseling center (and yes, I did recommend that) for a nice cuppa and a prescription for Prozac.
Ah, crying students. Aren’t they a hoot? I’m always amazed by which ones cry and which ones don’t. Some of them look at me with steely eyes, completely unrepentent about their sins (usually plagiarism). Others burst into tears at a kind word or a gentle question about their well-being or future plans — like they’ve never had anyone care about them.
I’d invest in the Kleenex.