|...it's right there....|
|it's the very last syllabus. of the semester. there|
may be other syllabi in my future, but not today.
But when you finish that syllabus, the angels will sing. Can you hear them? They are lauding your resilience, your persistence, your wherewithal, your je ne sais quoi. Come to think of it, I can't hear, exactly, what they're singing. Maybe it's more like the child's choir intro to You Can't Always Get What You Want. But if you try sometimes, you might find you get the syllabus you need.
Now that you've finished that syllabus, go buy and then eat some candy. It's dark outside. Your mouth needs something sweet in it. Or salty, go buy some potato chips also.
|I meet all my students on plazas,|
in filtered sunlight.
the class you're teaching makes teaching feel viable again, as opposed to hypothetical, and hypothetically anathema. They might not tell you that in teaching school, but it's true.
|sparkly like a BOSS.|
Did you say your blues are existential? I feel you. Mine too. So you can trust and believe that my having accomplished all of the above does not mean that I did not cry like a sap at the Modern Family episode tonight, where Phil Dunphy realizes that he has to let the ducks go because 'the internet says they were ready to fly a month ago.' Birds gotta fly? Ugh, where's the sparkly skirt to compensate for that, I ask you?