The admin in the English Department thinks I am too hard on my students, I can tell by the look on her face.
I posted a note on mailbox that it is “Closed for portfolio submissions.” This implies, of course, that I haven’t received all of them, and that some of the students (the ones I expected) have not turned them in on time.
The admin in the English Department pouts her bottom lip and says: “And that’s it? If they show up in ten minutes, nothing? Zero?”
That’s right. Nothing. The train has left the station.
It’s raining today. I didn’t get to choose this weather, and it drives me up a wall, that spring is often not what I imagine. That after the initial joyous sensation that 50 degrees is WARM, then, then, it can drag on for months in dreary same-dom. And it rains.
However, I notice that my lawn has unrolled itself luxuriously. The azalea blushes on every cheek. Maples have exploded. The peony that drooped and sighed in the scorching heat last August looks like it might be singing opera.
The admin in the English Department may wrinkle her nose, but I catch the scent of rich compost.
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