Saving the World: One Wasted Conversation at a Time

Currently, I’m sitting in the adjunct office trying to finish up comments on papers, grades, and mentally prepare for a day of presentations. The office is busier than usual because there is a potluck in the office. Generally, I think most of the adjuncts on this campus are pretty cool. I have no beef with any of the faculty; they have been nothing but nice to me. No complaints. Really.

I do, however, hate (okay–dislike) being around them. Most of them bitch about their students. Shamefully, I will admit I participate sometimes. Oftentimes, however, they have theoretical and sociological discussions about humanity, education, politics, religion, and God knows what else.

They sit in the office trying to solve the world’s problems.

God bless them for not having any effing papers to grade.

Witnessing this on occasion, once again, leads me to question my existence and purpose in this life; why am I teacher?  I too have very strong political views. In fact, just this morning my mother and I had an in-depth political chat discussing what the impact on the planet would be if the government does decide to release photos of Osama Bin Laden. We also discussed our surprise at how much information about the operation has been released to the general public. The thing is, I keep these thoughts to myself. The only time I share my political beliefs is in my writing (and generally it’s implied, not flat-out stated), when a little hammered on wine with my best friend who lives way too far away, and at Sunday dinners or family dinners because I live to see my father enraged and shocked. I love to see his face when I share my political or ideological beliefs. I’m sure he goes to sleep wondering how it is possible that I am made from 50% of his DNA.

Of course, teachers talking politics is nothing new. I think what bothers me is how freely they discuss their ideas. I don’t know if it’s my immigrant upbringing, or possibly the heavy influence World War II played on how my parents raised us, or if it is my having read 1984 entirely too many times, but discussing beliefs so openly makes me very uncomfortable.

Don’t get me wrong, I love to discuss controversial issues. In fact, in all of writing classes I live to watch my students dook it out. As a teacher, however, I am forced to remain neutral. Maybe what scares me about the discussions I overhear my colleagues having is that they discuss their students and their political beliefs. They are clearly judging their students and what they believe. They are not being neutral in their classrooms. It also seems they are forgetting what it’s like to be a nineteen year old. Most teenagers (and young college students) often share the same (often Conservative) beliefs their parents spout off at the dinner table. It isn’t until these young adults realize their parents are not infallible, that they can finally determine and understand their own ideologies. So why are these teachers judging them?

Shouldn’t they be trying to open up their minds with questioning and information?

Also, don’t my colleagues have to get ready for the end of the semester? Do they not have papers to grade?

Full Plate

Yeah, so I haven’t been sleeping. Those of you who have been reading this blog for a while know this isn’t something new. I’ve had trouble sleeping for a long time. I think I remember it beginning to be a problem around my sophomore year of college. I would imagine that if any psychologists have been reading my blog they would probably find enough evidence to suggest that I’m depressed. I mean look up the symptoms: sad mood, ruts, weight gain, loss of interest in activities, and of course, lack of sleep. It’s all there people.

The thing is I don’t think I’m depressed, I just think I have too much on my plate.

My first year out of college I started teaching high school. It was a stressful job because a) I’d never done it before, and b) I taught super honors students who were to be frank, pains in the ass. I also was living at home, which can make any person go insane. I started getting panic attacks. I had to wear one of the heart monitors for a week. You want to know when my heart raced the most? When I was driving home from work. That’s right people, when I was headed away from my job. Now if that doesn’t freak you out…

Anyway.

My panic attacks subsided in grad school. Every once in a while I got a panic attack, where I couldn’t breath or my heart was racing so fast, or both. I usually got panic attacks towards the ends of semesters when I had papers due, and had to grade my student papers as well. The ability to sleep, never returned. On occasion, if I’m wicked tired or have been awake for a long time, or had a great workout I’ll be able to conk out, but this is rare, if ever.

Well this semester the panic attacks are back, and with a vengeance. I’m not having one right now, but I have been getting them more often that I like to admit. When I first started having anxiety it was during the day, lately though, I’ve been having panic attacks in the middle of the night. I wake up from them.

Oftentimes, I’ll have had a nightmare. Two nights ago I dreamt about a serial killing priest–I’ve been reading the Dexter series–a few nights before that I dreamt that my wedding dress came in, but it was the wrong size, and I had to lose like 50 pounds in 2 weeks to fit into it–I’ve been watching a lot of Girl Meets Gown, and Say Yes to the Dress (oh shush, you know I’ve been good about the wedding talk). I wake up because I need air, because my heart feels like it is attached to an explosive.

Last night, I woke up and all I could think about was the papers I needed to grade. It was ridiculous.

My plate is full. I teach an absurd amount of classes. Beckettian even. I have about 120 students all of them turning in an average of 4 papers a semester, not to mention the presentations. I get paid part-time,  but I work overtime. Most instructors (not tenure track professors) teach 4 sections a semester. Four sections is manageable. Six is not.

Oh and did I mention I’m planning a long distance wedding.

Okay, I know that there are a lot you out there who have way more on your plates. Honestly, I’m blessed that I don’t have to worry about a lot of things like paying my bills, my health (knock on wood), the well-being of children,  and other issues that plague others. ( I’m not saying children are a plague–Freudian slip?).

My problem isn’t that I have a lot on my plate (that’s part of it, but not the whole thing). My problem is that I don’t know how to handle the things on my plate.

And so for the first time in almost four years, I’m dealing with panic attacks in the only way I know how. And that means shutting the hell up and getting my crap done.

Sometimes, that’s just good enough.

Here’s to trying.

It is About Damn Time

I’m about to make an embarrassing admission. Currently, I’m reading, Women, Food, and God: An Unexpected Path to Almost Anything. As much I as I enjoy reading fiction, every once in a while, I get the urge to read a self-help book. So sue me, I need a little inspiring every now and then.

Since, I’m getting married this year I’ve been forced to reevaluate my weight and food situation. No, I’m not about to turn this into a dieting or wedding blog (don’t panic readers). Recently, I purchased my wedding dress and when the seamstress measured me and the sales girl told me the size they had to order, I almost fainted. I knew I wasn’t a size 6 anymore, but I hadn’t realized I’d lost complete control of my weight.

I am well aware that formal wear runs small. Even if I had been a size 6, I would have probably had to order a size 8 or even a 10, still, I couldn’t believe it.

My whole life I’ve struggled with my weight and there was a brief time in college when I was thin, but I learned at the bridal shop that I’m back to the size I was in high school. Not. good.

FH is a very honest and straightforward person and he always says I need to embrace the calories in-calories out rule and go with that. He is right. I also have absolutely no willpower. At least I like to workout.

So, what does this have to do with the self help book? First off, my Kindle tells me I’m about 35% of the way through, so I still have some learning to do, but according to Roth, there is something deeper than willpower, or lack of,  that fuels compulsive eating. I believe this–hence the memoir in the works. While the book is not about weight loss in a direct sense, it does talk about the relationship people have with food and how it is directly related to how we live. This is an interesting thought. In fact, Roth just released another book about how our relationship with food is related to how we spend money. I feel like there is something to this.

As I’ve been reading, I realized that I need to come face-to-face with my demons and write the memoir.

I recently was home to do some wedding planning and while I was there (as is always the case) there was some drama. The past decade and a half, my family has been through one traumatic event after another. It seems continuous. They haven’t gotten a break from the drama at all. It’s ridiculous. While I was home, I found myself feeling the same pain I had happily escaped when I moved out and went to college. The pain I experienced at home, was never dealt with and while I was in school, it surfaced in the form of severe migraines and depression. I got over the depression. I think.

There is something about getting ready to wed that is making a lot of feelings surface. I find myself remembering a lot of the events I thought I had safely hidden away. I find myself eating a lot more. Eating to the point that I’m so full I feel sick.

As I read, page by page, I realize it is finally time to write the memoir. While I’m sure, if it ever gets published, it will piss off most of my family (especially my father). Still, I don’t really care. I believe I feel this way because, getting married is like chopping off your hair after a bad break up. It’s a fresh start.

In fact, I’m feeling so inspired I may get a haircut too. I’ve been wanting a change, and while a haircut is totally a metaphor, I’m a writer. I live for metaphors.

An Open Letter Rant

Dearest Students who turn their work in late and then want me to rush to grade it,

Sorry, no can do. You’re not special, and I have over 100 students who turned their work in on-time. Maybe when you learn to follow instruction, you too, can get your grades when everyone else does. Frankly, you should feel privileged and lucky to have a professor nice enough to accept your work.

What I’m trying to say is shut it. Got it?

Thanks.

The One and Only,

One Mean Mother-f-ing MFA

I Am Pond Scum

This afternoon my best friend called me . I hadn’t heard from her in a while, and was actually starting to get worried about her, but of course she’s just fine. We’re the type of friends who can go months without speaking and then pick up a conversation right where we left off. She and I are one soul separated into two bodies. She is definitely the more spontaneous one, but I too go through phases of impulse and seclusion the way she does. The reason we’ve been friends for as long as we have is because we’re able to see and understand each other so thoroughly. She can hear things in my voice, and see things in my face that no one else can.  Today she told me I sounded unhappy on the phone which made me even more sad, than apparently I already am.

I do feel like I haven’t been completely satisfied with my life, but I think things could be a lot worse. The economy has played a huge role in my dissatisfaction. The thing is, I feel like I’m lucky. I can still afford to put gas in my car and have cable, internet, and food in my fridge. It could be worse. Still, I’m not happy. Although maybe I’m not “burning the midnight oil” enough. Tonight after I turned off the TV, I thought, “you should stop watching all of this television.” I really should. Although, I don’t think I watch that much TV; I think everyone can watch less.

She told me I sounded unhappy with my work.

My whole life I knew I was going to be a teacher. Yeah, I started college with the idea of becoming a doctor, only because I thought that was what my parents wanted. My undergraduate degree was very expensive, and my parents definitely didn’t encourage me to go into education. They said it was stupid to go to school for teaching and then graduate with students loans. Maybe they were right.

My mother still doesn’t understand why I got an MFA in writing. “You should’ve gotten an MBA, now that’s a useful master’s degree.”

The fact that I could give two shits about the business world is meaningless.

“You know, you could have been a nurse, you had all the credits. Didn’t you finish a minor in science?”

I have minors in chemistry, biology, and sociology. (I’m a nerd. What can I say? There is not a subject offered that I won’t attempt.)

My dissatisfaction is not with teaching. I don’t think. I mean I like teaching, don’t get me wrong. I just think that I’m not happy at the schools that I teach at. I teach too many sections and don’t make enough money. I give my students too much work, and teach courses that don’t give me any pleasure. I feel like I went to school for a useless degree and may end up stuck an adjunct for God knows how long.

I’ve been applying for jobs outside of education. It’s daunting. My cover letter is terrible. I apply for copywriter jobs, editing jobs, and have no journalism experience. My cover letter, I feel, sounds desperate. It essentially suggests that I use the same skills as a teacher, that I would as a copyeditor. Wouldn’t I? In the end, (I told this to my BFF as well), whether I get a full time job as a professor or a copyeditor it will boil down on an employer being willing to take a chance on me.

Take. A. Chance. On. Me. (I hope you’re singing ABBA)

These past two semesters working as a part-time slave, I’ve really been questioning what I want to do. I just don’t know. I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. What the hell is my problem?

My department chair told me the other day that he wasn’t sure what the funding was going to look like for the fall. Meaning: you may not get as many sections as you’re hoping for–if any.

Panic.

I guess I should have applied for those Ph.D. programs.

My best friend suggested that maybe I was destined to be a stay at home mother.

What?

And not work?

I always envisioned myself as a career woman who was a mother on the side. I would come home from work in my fabulous heels and a briefcase and then get dinner started…the way my mother did. I always wanted to have a career. Now, here I am, seven years of fucking higher education and I’m no where near a career.

I’m pond scum.

Who knows, maybe I am depressed and I don’t even know it. Maybe that’s what’s making writing so damn hard. Maybe, it’s the depression that’s making the wedding planning so challenging and the job hunt so weary.

Or.

Maybe, I need to stop being a Debbie Downer, or Negative Nancy and fight until I get what I want.

A goddamn tenure track position.

 

 

Literally a Starving Artist

This morning when I signed into my bank’s website to check out what my balance looked like, I was shocked to see: $0.00. I had recently deposited $100 dollars. With it, I bought $23 dollars of groceries, a haircut, and some gas. That’s right. In less that a week I blew 100 bucks. I had 6 bucks laying around and I put into my gas tank so I could get home. I currently have $1.01 in savings account and that’s it. I’m surprised my bank hasn’t shut down my account.

While, I do admit to being horrible with budgets, my new years resolution was to get my finances in order, I do feel like I am the victim of a horrible pay schedule. I get paid once a month. I haven’t been paid since the end of December. FH has really been helping me. Boy has got my back. My next pay check is due March 1st. I need to file my taxes because I might get lucky and get some money back. I’m not hopeful.

I have some change in a mini-piggy bank. I’m hoping for 20 bucks. I just need to get some gas. In case you’ve been living under a rock, or live in a place with good public transportation gas is fucking expensive. Every day it seems to go up by about 10 cents. At this rate, I’m going to have to hitchhike to work.

As I spent the last 6 dollars to my name to fill my gas tank I had a true existential crisis. I’ve been crying for about an hour and am still pretty emotional. I will be calling the cable company to cancel the cable starting March 1st. I’ll be keeping my internet and Netflix, but that’s it. I may only save 50 bucks a month doing this, but honestly 50 bucks would at least fill up my gas tank.

I’ve been thinking of getting an emergency credit card. One that stays frozen in a block of ice and is then thawed for emergency use only. What do you think?

Every time I look at my bank accounts and see how broke I am, I reevaluate my life choice to be a professor. I don’t know how much longer I can live this existence. The thing is my degree is useless unless you teach, not to mention the job market isn’t really brimming with opportunities for loser adjuncts like myself.

I’m starting to get worried about the summer. What if I don’t get any sections? How the hell am I going to pay my bills? Waitressing? Ugh, just the thought of it.

I’m grateful that I have FH and a pretty supportive family. Still, when I talk to my mother about my finacial situation, I can’t help but hear the disappointment in her voice. She is an immigrant, as is my father, and if you know anything about immigrants all they want is for their kids to be more successful than themselves. For our family, that is not the case.

Maybe I should take a dollar in the change that I have and play the lotto. I’m pretty down right now, and I’m thinking the only way to go is up, right?

Am I a Bad Teacher?

This week was one of those weeks of teaching that reminds you to keep your priorities straight. Too keep pumping out writing. It reminded me why I need to revise my novel, and why I need more publications. There were a few incidents this week. I’m relieved that I was able to take Wednesday through Friday off because I don’t think I would have been able to handle another one this week without losing my cool and my job.

Incident Number One

I had arrived early and was setting up. One of my students came in and sat down.

“Miss, I’m so lost. Have we turned anything in? Have we done anything in this class?”

I looked up. I absolutely suck at containing my emotions; it is why I will never be a poker champion or spy.

“Uhhh, yeah.”

The students are working on a research paper and have turned in two annotated bibliographies, and a proposal. They also have had two class discussions on-line.

“I’m just so lost.”

“Well, see me after class.”

Once class got going, I had to explain, for the one millionth time, how to upload documents and assignments via Blackboard.

“Miss, I’m just so confused.” This same student said. I think he was trying to get the other students to say the same thing, but they were all quiet. “I’ve been confused since we started.”

We’re ten weeks into the semester.

“Well, oftentimes when students are confused they come to office hours, or email me.”

“Miss, I’m too busy to hunt you down.”

“Well then you’ve clearly indicated where your priorities lie. So…”

“Miss, you need to stop. We need to stop having this conversation because you’re being sassy.”

That’s right folks, he said I was being sassy.

I simply plowed through the lesson and was relieved that FH had Oreos at his house when I got there.

As I type out this minor incident, I guess it wasn’t that big of a deal, I guess, I was just irritated that a student could be so disrespectful. That was of course until the next day.

Incident Number Two

So, currently, in one of my classes, we are reading 1984. The class is a remedial type course where students are retaught or taught how to develop their ideas into papers. They are also required to read a novel to work on their reading skills.

Well, after passing out their reading quiz my students informed me they hadn’t read far enough into the novel to answer the questions on the quiz. Mind you, the reading schedule for the book is on the syllabus that I handed to them day one of classes.

Since, I strive to be a hard-ass I made the students take the quiz anyway. They should have read. I will also be counting the grades–or should I say zeros–for the quiz. I was so disappointed in them. Anyway, while we were grading them (I let the students switch papers and grade them) one of my students proceeded to tell me that I was being unfair in accepting a certain and answer for question 1 and then not accepting her wrong answer for question 5. She was irate and shouting.

“That’s just ridiculous. I mean come on.” She shouted.

When I gave the students a break, she and her friend who had told me to shut up earlier in the class period, did not return.

Good riddance.

Incident Number Three

When teaching 1984, I think it’s important to give the students some political and historical background on what is happening in Orwell’s world and what he’s responding to. On a side note: my best friend is a history teacher and she always says that English teachers are frustrated history teachers. I feel like this is so true, but I digress.

So after telling the students when Orwell published his novel, I asked them about world events. They said World War II. I was thrilled.

“Can anyone tell me when WWII occurred?”

Crickets.

“Okay, can anyone tell me what happened during World War II?”

“Soldiers died,” a student whispered.

“Of course, it was a war.”

“Okay, can anyone tell me about Hitler?”

“He was bad?”

“Does the word Holocaust ring a bell?”

“Sort of.”

I stood there trying not look stunned.

“Guys, this is considered common knowledge.”

“Well, no one ever taught me that,” a student said with force.

I stared at them and after giving them a brief history lesson that would have probably been appalling to any good history teacher, I let the information sink in.

After visiting DC and spending a good three hours at the Holocaust Museum, I was shocked that my students were so clueless. That they were unable to discuss one of the more horrific moments of human history. I couldn’t understand how they had gotten this far through life, into COLLEGE and not known about World War II. Then, they had the balls to tell me they’d never been taught about the Holocaust. Could it be true? Also, was I expected, required to teach it to them?

They were living proof of the world Orwell created in his novel. I neglected to tell them this.

Apparently after class, some of my students emailed my boss and told her that that I had been insensitive and harsh in expecting them to know about World War II. Was I? They claimed it was insensitive of me to make comments like that since some of them hadn’t been in school in a very long time. Should I not have made the “common knowledge”comment?

So why teach?

This week, I have been asking myself this question repeatedly. I even applied for an unpaid internship at a magazine because lately I’ve been so tired of teaching. Both of my parents are teachers. They both love teaching the students who dislike school and learning. They like the troubled students who talk back, and they are great with them. I, on the other hand, don’t like these students. In fact, the past three semesters I haven’t gotten much pleasure from teaching and I’m starting to question if I’m even cut out for it.

Maybe I’m just not teacher material. Maybe, I do, in fact, suck at teaching?

This week I’ve done some soul searching and well I still don’t have the answer. This week I was told I was sassy, was told to shut-up, and was told I was insensitive and expected too much from my students. Well fuck.

When I expressed this concern with my parents, my mother said, well what else can you do, if you’re not teaching? I don’t know, but there has be something better for me out there.

Right?

The Adjunct Office or Should I Say Bitch Central?

Most schools provide their part-time faculty with a space to grade papers and check their emails. It’s not the most beautiful space–both of the schools that work at have offices for their adjuncts and both are located in the basement, in a corner where air circulation is something to be desired. Nevertheless, it’s better than no space and relegating part-time staff to the library for computer access.

I look forward to one day having an office that smells of old books and is decorated with cheesy English teacher posters. And while I pine for  this office, I’m still grateful to have a space I can sort of call my own. My issue however is not with the space. My issue is with the people who use the space.

A bunch of complainers they are. Oh my goodness. I get it, we all need to vent, but lord have mercy. This past semester I have learned about how lazy, undisciplined, and horrible the students are at the college. Bunch of no good….blah blah blah. All semester I have heard other instructors–some of them about 40 years older than me–talk about how in their day students were disciplined. Kids were better then. Teaching was a pleasure. Oh, shut it.

While I don’t deny that students, teaching, and, parents has evolved–or maybe regressed over the past few years, the student bashing is too much for me. I will not disagree that there are some real pains in the ass out there, many of them in my classroom. But overall, I don’t have horrible students. Of course this varies by semester, but I’ve had groups that were worse, and I anticipate that I will have better.

It seems that many of these instructors have lost touch with their students and perhaps that is in part because of their age, but I do think that mostly it’s because instead of trying to reach their students they bitch about them. How many of you have had instructors who were old–but hip? They are out there, and frankly those older hip professors often kick serious ass.

There are days when I get caught up in the complaining–I admit. On those days, I get upset with myself for being negative and complaining. It happens, I’m human. When I do complain, I do notice, that it makes the grading more difficult, and the work experience not so pleasant. I love to teach writing–I love it wholeheartedly.  That’s what I think is part of the problem. These complaining teachers have forgotten why they teach.

The crotchety, complaining, cranky professors (alliteration was totally intentional) are the worst. While I sit in the office and hear the complaining, I want to desperately shout–Enough! I do what my students do when they don’t want to listen, I pop in my headphones and pump up the volume on my iPod. Maybe I’m just as bad as to my colleagues as my students, but frankly I don’t care. Instead of complaining, I try to reach them and encourage them to be the best students possible, because in the end that’s all I can do. And I’m okay with that.

Why Adjuncts Struggle to Break Free

I’ve been part-time teaching at two schools this semester and have been trying to figure out why my grad school professors warned us not be adjuncts. Well, today as I started grading a stack of papers that has recently dwindled from 110 to 90 papers, I now understand my professors’ advice.

In order to live comfortably as an adjunct you must teach at least four to five sections. These sections usually include at least 20 students which means come paper time you’ve got at least 100 papers to grade and comment on. While you’re grading papers and teaching 5 sections, full-time professors are teaching 3 sections, not worrying about money, and working on publications. That’s right, they are writing and focused on their careers, while the only writing you’re doing is the writing on student papers.

Recently a girlfriend of mine, who also has her MFA and was an adjunct for a while and is now a full-time instructor, called me. We spoke at length about focusing on our writing versus our students. She and I are tired of being super teacher. Being super teachers is not going to get us a tenure track jobs. This has always been my goal, and has recently become hers as well.

So, what have we decided to do to brighten our futures? The fifth of every month we will be emailing each other our writing. I’m working on perfecting my novel by adding some sections and lengthening the sections I have, and she wants to pump out some short stories. We attempted to establish some kind of consequence for not doing the writing, but decided that we weren’t afraid of each other so we established a reward instead. When we send each other our work, we will also send each other a $10 gift card to Barnes and Noble.

Our first exchange will occur on the 5th of November, and I’m eager to have a deadline and someone I trust to give me feedback. I’m hoping that this exchange will enable us both to see our work published and lead us towards being tenured professors.

In the end, what it all boils down to is worrying about yourself. In this competitive society, it is necessary to focus on you. It sounds narcissistic and selfish but I don’t really care, I’m in it to win it and if you’re an adjunct who is a super teacher, you should consider focusing on yourself even if it is brief. We must stop feeling guilty if we don’t our students their papers back immediately. Those things can wait–your career can’t.

Are there any super-teachers out there that agree with me? What about those of you who don’t? Why not focus on my own writing versus the writing of my students? Am I horrible person for thinking this way?

In It to Win It

Well, we’re slowly moving towards the middle of the semester.  My students have turned in their first papers and we are trucking through to the next. It is all happening so fast.

As you faithful readers know, I suck at making a schedule for myself. Well, nothing has changed so far. The only schedule I have been sticking to is my workout schedule. While I feel like this is a good start, I still need to get my teaching stuff in order–not having an office at work really blows–and desperately need a writing schedule.

I am thinking because I don’t have to be at work so early on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday that I will get my writing done in the mornings. This will enable me to start my day off completely focused on my career.

For those of you future MFA graduates, the time has come to start applying for professor jobs. As much as I hate job hunting it is so important that the cover letters and all that business gets done soon. I only have to update my CV and write a bunch of cover letters, but I’m ready. Nothing, besides myself, can stop me from getting a kick ass professor job for next fall. I’m so ready.

I think all the yoga I’ve been doing has really gotten me focused and has cleared my head of all the BS.

Well, I hope all of you out there are writing your little hearts out. Between this blog, my blogging project, and my own fiction, nonfiction and novel work I know I’m about saturated.