…these narratives, these essays which are more than obviously written to be read to an audience, and assaults with truth. I admire her, feel like she’s doing something I can’t. Like she’s teaching me. Like I should be sitting where she is. Maybe I should. Maybe one class I should just put her up there, to read for all 1 hour and 50 minutes of class. To entertain me, the rest of the class. No, that would show favoritism— “Well goddamnit!” I say to myself, just under the volume of the film being shown next-door in the theatre room. I’ve always wondered, “What class is that?” I want to be a student in my own class and that one, and I have no idea what they’re teaching in that large fucking room.
4:12PM. Not sure what to do, now. And, it just occurred to me, do I have to put a space between the time and ‘PM’ or ‘AM’? Why am I obsessing over this right now? Am I grading my own writing? Is this “career” if you could call it that, as an adjunct instructor, contaminating me? Is it this room? The campus? Have I had too much coffee? Or is it just a sign of getting older? This is insane.