August 19, 2016

Went early to school to do syllabi. Greeted by colleagues who feared that I had been ill. After assuring them that all was well, I remembered that I HAD been ill. Hubbub of students moving in, meetings, preparation. I elected not to stay for the convocation. I wonder if I’ve ever been to one? Evan looking god-like. Can’t get the Humanities bitterness quite out of my heart. I was an inspired teacher thwarted by a bad one; correct and student-concerned pedagogy overruled by a ruinous and devious one, an honest man bested by a liar and serpent. Most things in which there is SOME evening out one can get over. Can I get over this? I loved teaching Humanities and was better at it than anyone else, certainly better by levels of magnitude than the Boy. And, so far as I know, no one fought for me. A big shrug and a “well, that’s how it goes.” Wrong on every level, and, so far as I can see, incapable of redress.
   
It wanted to rain and did not. I worked on poems.