January 23, 2008

My Professional Development Leave for the fall was rescinded–or as my "official" letter said, "denied." I’d earlier received a letter from the Dean supporting it, but who knows who has the last word anymore? Whatley said into my voicemail that SO many people had applied and some of them had taught twenty years or so without leave. There’s part of me that understands that, part of me that curls his lips scornfully at yet more evidence of this campus’ queer bent of anti-meritocracy, where everything– potential, lack of potential, no previous evidence of potential, potential long ago abandoned, long endurance, pathetic underachievement, mildness, gender, friendship with the members of the committee– is honored except actual achievement. India, Cambridge, professional leave: a clean sweep, and not one of those I can shrug off as fair play.

Made a date with the CoS cast to meet at the Usual last night. Of course I ended up sitting there alone.

I had not fancied myself as one of those who takes to his bed with sadness, but I guess I am. Maybe it’s a new stage of life; maybe I always did it and hid it from myself.

A not-unfair review of Virginia Woolf appears in a blog called Asheville Reviews, or something like that. Jason told me about it at the coffee shop. The blogger acknowledges that everyone around him thought the production was wonderful, but he found himself looking at his watch. His impression that Martha was a petulant child and George her faithful guardian was not, perhaps, what we were going for, but probably pretty close to what we got.