Grumpy

Everytime I think about something to write about on this blog, I run into obstacles... most of these are related to the fact that there are people who know me who read this. And I really don't want to ruin friendships, lose my job, or make myself look like an idiot.

But some things are going on that are making me crazy (to the point where I have to literally dig my fingernails into my palms to keep from shouting at people in meetings. I'm approaching some kind of menopausal fevered state, too, which helps absolutely none), and they are related to the following:

• Accreditation hell. Hell. Hell. Hell. Every time I turn around there is another email in my mailbox, saying "Oh, Dr. Bad Ass? Could you kindly analyze these data and write a one-page summary? And then could you find loads of paperwork from the last two years that you're not responsible for keeping and put them in a folder so we can have them ready in case someone wants to look at it?" I'm pretty sure this is all going to turn out fine, but hell. I'm in hell.
  
• Online course stupidity (this is totally me, not my students -- they've been great). I realized a couple of days ago that the rubric in the syllabus for online discussion is not the one that I wanted to use. Um, I had already used it to score online discussions for two weeks. So I had to 'fess up to my students that I made a stupid mistake, change all of the grades, and redo the syllabus. Dumb. I hate doing dumb things.
• In my College Algebra class (that I'm taking, certainly not teaching). ... oh, wait. I should explain that the last time I took algebra was 27 years ago? And I got a D? And my favorite part of the class was that I had a tutor with a Harley? (That should explain the D. Not much tutoring, but lots of touring around the countryside. ) And graphing calculators didn't exist? ........ OK, so I think I've established the context sufficiently. So there are these wrestlers who were sitting right behind me, until today, when I moved. See, Big Obnoxious Wrestler (we'll call him B.O.W.) (as in W.O.W.) kept putting his massive foot up on the back of my chair. Right behind my shoulder. Dude. I really don't want what you've been walking on to get all over my beautiful red coat. I contemplated telling him to take his size 14s elsewhere, but then just decided to be peacable and move. So today he comes in smelling awfully like he had washed his hair in Jack Daniels. Interesting. Wonder if the coach knows?

There's more, but I can't really talk about it . . . .

All will be well. All manner of things will be well.