The end is in sight. No, this isn't some silly movie that takes as its' inspiration a Mayan prophecy about the end of the world, but instead an observation regarding the end of the academic term. I always think that I am breathlessly awaiting this moment and that I will reach a special state of apotheosis but this isn't the case. Expectation, as ever, is the source of all suffering, and the ending is not ever as sweet as I imagine it or remember it from years past. Instead it finds me indifferent.
I remember how I used to greet this moment in the past. When I was a my alma mater, I would dream about the last day of the quarter. It was a sprint from start to finish, and I would eagerly await that moment when I would have finished my final so that I could rush to sell my books and then have a celebratory meal. My tastes were quite modest, in keeping with my budget. A good combination from Tommie's Burgers was enough for me, following by a stroll through the local streets and maybe a celebratory outing with friends. None of the rabble-rousing of the fraternity members, however, who needed little justification for hosting another bacchanalia. Now, of course, I am on the other side, and I am left to wonder about what my professors must have felt as they arrived at this moment. Did they also anticipate it or view it with dread?
In my case, I view it with mixed emotions. Dread is part of it, but also the need for a change of pace. Classes are paced to go through their own cycles, much as any other vital process. There is an early moment of promise and glee, followed by the plenitude of a routine that has been finalized, proceeding to the exhaustion of autumn and the discontent and melancholy of winter. This, applied to academic terms of varying length, reproduced in cycles that succeed each other two or even three times per year. (In my university, three, since we are on the quarter system.)
Earlier this week I had been panicking. There were materials that I still hadn't graded, and I needed to prepare preliminary grades. I also needed to finalize a few study guides, since students seem to demand them even though I find them superfluous. I realize they are security blankets, but if I don't heed their requests, I am afraid that I will be bombarded by silly questions during the days leading up to the final.
It seemed as if my ordeal would never end. Now, granted, this used of the word "ordeal" is perhaps unwarranted. There are plenty of other occupations where the work is much more dangerous, wearying and frustrating. One thinks of those who perform repetitive labor under punitive conditions, or those who work in retail establishment and have to put up with many rude and demanding customers, or, at the apex, a public school teacher with five or six classes of unruly adolescents. I've been in that place when I was working as a substitute teacher and I would frequently wind up trembling with rage and despair, after having had many confrontations with students. However, in this case, given my perception of a task that would never end, it did seem like an ordeal. The lack of variety always has this effect on me.
It also didn't help that I have been feeling ill. My chest feels congested, as if I can't draw enough air. In addition, I feel worrying spasms, and my nose and throat are hurting. Maybe this is one more instance of the three-week cold that persists like a yapping Chihuahua that can't be calmed. I left with a sense of heaviness and dread, hoping that the drive wouldn't prove as difficult as it has been during recent weeks.
When I arrive the campus was strangely deserted. I would have thought that the school population would have doubled over the last week of classes, but it didn't. There was a sleepy air that was probably due to the weather. It has been very sunny and hot these past two days and those conditions represent an irresistible temptation for students. As long as one student can delegate note-taking to a fellow classmate, attendance will always be less than optimal. I wonder if they cast lots to see who will have to show up to class to carry this out.
As I was delivering my first presentation I noticed students getting up to leave. They had no inclination to stay, and I have to admit that I have facilitated this or, in the language of pop psychology, "enabled" it. Yes, I don't say anything when they get up and walk out, thinking that it is ultimately up to them if they want to remain or not. Nonetheless, it does strike me as rude. If they are paying to attend classes, why would they not take advantage of them? It education just an empty passage to adulthood? In the end, as my friend Don used to say, we can't be their parents. If they leave, let them leave. Even though in this case there was a moment of hilarity when a bee entered the classroom and I had to corral it and encourage it to leave through the open window.
In my evening class I had a coughing fit that I couldn't stop. It was exquisitely embarrassing, as I tried to muster on in vain. After a certain point I left the classroom for a drink of water, but to no avail. My malady had gotten the best of me, and the cold/flu/bronchitis/affliction chose to manifest itself in a very public way. At least the students were a little more patient and stayed in class, but they are majoring in the subject I teach, and they are upper-division students. One even offered me a cough drop. I feel slightly ashamed that I questioned her motives.
Now, the hard part is officially over. Next week, final exams, and then the drudgery of endless grading. And then the boulder rolls all the way back down the mountain and we start once again.
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