codecalla

I have taught hundreds of students this semester and sustained my sanity.  I have taught many courses of English Composition-Levels 1 and 2, Western World Literature, and Introduction to Humanities.  I have survived.  My students have mostly thrived.  Those who didn’t thrive were somehow absorbed by the fictitious swamp of self-absorption and life complaints or maybe just sleeping in past class time, which is easy enough to do.  Some students truly had life-changing moments, and not enough time or energy to devote to school in addition to medical problems, deaths in the family, or sudden deployment.  We have muddled through.

My journey through a course of Education, the EdD, continues.  Learning theories are exciting, especially when I put them into context of my real experiences and suddenly understand why a particular practice didn’t work.  Previously, I just tried different approaches until one seemed to work for the students and myself.  I believe the students and myself have learned tremendously this semester.  But I had multiple semesters within one semester, multiple finals weeks, and multiple assignments to grade.  Deadlines were lost to me as I coped with demands from administrators, students, and myself.  My demands were far more overburdening.  Perfection as an instructor is impossible.  We screw up.  It’s normal to screw up, because we’re human, damn it.

My writing is bubbling and boiling under the surface, perturbed that I’ve only written in my head, or jotted down notes.  Going any length of time without writing is committing myself to insanity.  Writing fosters that sense of self that finds balance, clarity, and meaning.  I hoped to publish another book this year, but I have about 9 days left in the year and it’s only part-way completed.  I will endeavor to write the best novel I can, but I don’t want to publish something that will require several editions to perfect it.  Thankfully most of the formatting issues I learned the last time, so now it’s scene placing and major plot arcing to decide.  Plus, the characters will probably get ticked off at me if I ignore them much longer.  Frank is getting positively pissy.  Llewellyn is playing a sad lonely tune, and shaking his head at me, and Mai is curled up with a good book, contrary to her nature.  Mai wants direction and doesn’t mind waiting a bit for it.