“Whatever,” and a scratch with my middle finger…

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A friend of mine was asking how exams were going for me.  This was a few hours after I’d graded a class–they had an exam and a final research paper, so I was reading for hours and hours and hours.  My response was, “After a while, it’s so much energy to care.”  She giggled.  I didn’t.

See, I was dead serious.  Now, I do care how my students do.  I read every damned, just-shy-of-plagarized paper, read every half-assed answer on their exams, and give each one all my concentration.  But do you really think there’s an answer I haven’t seen before?  A response that blows my mind?  Maybe one each semester.  Not many.  Do you have any idea how many students a professor has a semester?  How many hundreds of papers get stacked on that desk at the end of the year?  So I may be bored, a little frustrated, but determined to give each student their due.  I grab every bit of concentration, good will and focus I have.  And because I do, the rest of my existence that day becomes a big pile of blah.  I used up all my give-a-shit energy on those papers.  So I just don’t care about anything else.

Case in point:  I came home, and my loving hubby had made a cold salad for dinner.  It was healthy, totally within bounds of our veggies 4x a weeknight rule, and I couldn’t give a shit.  I had bought a box of Lucky Charms on the way home.  My first box in months.  I ate two bowls.

I also watched the nauseating Gypsy Wedding and Gold Rush with my man because I simply didn’t care enough to grab the remote.  And I loathe reality tv.  I left the light on when I went to bed.  I left (gasp) dirty dishes in the sink.  I drank expired milk. Until exams are actually over, I wouldn’t trust my ability to dress myself, either.  That’s why I planned my clothing last week.  I kid you not.

So when I overhear students saying how hard finals are and how teachers just don’t understand how exhausting it is (forgetting the 8 years of college to obtain my degrees) I just mentally say whatever and just maybe scratch my nose…

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5 thoughts on ““Whatever,” and a scratch with my middle finger…

    • Aaaaah! My problem with Gold Rush is the morons buy broken down equipment, push it to stupid extremes and then scratch their heads and bemoan when things go wrong. “We just want the American Dream!” No one said the american dream means making uneducated, moronic choices instead of smart, premeditated plans.
      (pant, pant)
      … Okay. I’ll stop now.
      I don’t hold it against you. I used to watch Thunder Cats and I can’t figure out why. I think it was the leotards. They were HOT in the 80s.

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