January 18, 2019

Got through a class on Cervantes. It’s probable that I’ll be trading my freshman writing class for American Lit. Anne’s father is sick, and she needs to go tend to him, and though my course and hers are at the same time, it’s easier to find an adjunct substitute for freshman writing than American Lit. I’d rather it be that way, except in two class meetings I’ve grown fond of my freshmen, and fear their fate without me. I know, hubris, but it’s how I feel. It was a big deal to have me teach freshman writing after 32 years of not. But, see, even the gods were against it. Meeting yesterday with the freshman writing coordinator who had to have the chairman in the room lest I– I don’t even know what. Lest I bite her? Lest I treat her with the contempt she deserved for that bit of passive-aggressiveness? I am far more harmless in my own eyes than I seem to be in others’. Have slept all day except for my class, and perhaps I was partially asleep then. This is a light and headed-off-at-the-pass occurrence of the disease, but it still is one. Kyle’s birthday tonight. I think I’ll go even if---