It was quiet, of course, pleasant. A greensward of land just open and pretty. I waved at someone I knew who was across the quad from me. I strolled in an unseasonably cool morning to my office.
My eyes settled on my bookshelves, and I pulled a couple of volumes out I wanted to read at home. The life of the mind, I was reminded.
Then I sat down and looked at the surface of my desk where the remains of my final grading sessions remained. I saw the names of the petulant punks who had made my Spring semester one big fucking nightmare. Complaints. Whining. "I have to get ready for SongFest! Can I do my paper next week instead?"
A sour feeling took over my stomach and I just wanted to go home and black out the windows for a while.
So much of my job is wonderful. The parts that kill my spirit are all tied up in that list of names, the students. They come in to the classroom - and more will come in the Fall semester - and everything I dreamed about for my career gets dashed against their pointy heads and limited ambition.
I could not get out of that room fast enough.
