So I’m DONE GRADING. Thank you. Thank you.
I’ve even, with the help of Mary Lois, put my grades into Moodle. The grade grubbing shall commence very soon.Â
In the meantime, I am having an existential crisis.
It is 2:41, in the afternoon, right now and I am STILL IN MY NIGHTGOWN. About, oh, 5 hours ago, when I woke up, I was like, “All right! Finish grading!” So I did. Then I was like, “All right, put up those grades!” So I did. Â Then I tracked down an MIA package. And then I did some dishes.Â
Then I looked at my empty “to do” list and was like, “WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO WITH MY LIFE???”
Meanwhile, this is a ridiculous question. I just got my first official editorial letter for my second novel. I say my first, because the “letter” for my first novel was a teeny-weeny email. I had virtually no edits, because by the time it got to Orbit, Tempest Rising had already been through the ringer. My second novel? Not so much. I got a Lettah. Which actually makes me purr with happiness, when I’m not considering investing in Depends, because I LOVE ME SOME CRITICISM. I’m such a freaking masochist, it’s amazing.
So I’ve got a huge pile o’ rewrite to address, and there was something else . . . Oh, right, MY THIRD BOOK, which I still need to write. And then there’s an academic article on Philip Roth which has been accepted with revisions, that I still have to knock into shape.
All in all, I’ve got what is known of, in certain circles, as a shit load to do. But I’m still in Professor mode, and until I can switch hats, I’m just sort of like, “Huh? But? What about essays? What will I grade?”
It’s like a form of Stockholm Syndrome.
How are you dealing with the onslaught of summer?