My working hypothesis about my class was that I was slowly running it into the ground, but yesterday a faculty observer came in and apparently he has falsified that hypothesis at least. Teaching comp in a lit program is weird. It’s sort of like having physics researchers teach the first year of college math—obviously there’s a lot of overlap in the skill sets, and just as obviously they are not the same field. I do get to break up the paragraph assignments with the book about the big bug.
Afterwards I am very tired and sit in the department lounge, where my eyes can’t focus on anything and I have some kind of dull visionary experience where all the furniture seems to hang around my head, very solid, in full color; I feel a faint vibration in my lips and become aware of the planes of bone behind my face. I hear we can go on like this for decades.
