dragging it out

lots of interesting things have happened this weekend, but I am starting to consider that perhaps my depression is induced by grading. The past two days have been a smorgasborg of increasing sluggishness and ensuing self-hatred. The weekend was weekend, so even though I did grade some papers on Sunday, it did not partake of the grading despair. On Monday, I started off well, grading one paper, then traipsing off to yoga, emerging form yoga yogically, and then to om café, where I read five papers. I felt so triumphant, even though I had to leave after reading only five papers. Out of ten left.

So far so good.

I made it home with fantastic plans for a good use of time. I had planned to eat a little bit of dinner (leftover grandpa's porridge from blue hen), then type up my vergil notes and read book iv, then grade two more papers and then take a drive over to school to return a recalled book, thereby avoiding a five dollar fine, and be back in bed fitfully sleeping at 11:00.

And then, I did none of these things. Perhaps I got derailed at the eating of a little bit of dinner plan. Because when I got back to the studio, what seemed appealing was not grandpa's porridge in its somewhat ideologically disturbing red and white container labeled "oriental food," but the nice crusty rosemary bread gifted from sweet lady jane's. I ate, can I count them? at least 6 slices of bread with different toppings. The first slice was supposedly the dinner itself: toasted bread with lovely artichoke tapenade, some mixed baby greens, and a slice of prosciutto. Very yummy. But then I decided that consuming 5 more slices, some topped with cheese, some topped with butter, some with more tapenade.

Each progressive slice eaten found me more and more uncomfortably full. By the time I'd finished with the loaf, I felt disgusting and bloated. And it seemed absolutely impossible to accomplish anything on the rest of the list. Not typing up the notes, not reading book iv, not grading papers, not driving to school, not saving five dollars.

I went to bed at 7:00pm, thinking that I would wake myself up at 9:00pm and start fresh. The alarm blared off and I set it again, for 5:30am.

The next morning went, if possible, even worse. I wasn't at a cafe, so I read the four leftover papers lounging on my side in bed, allowing myself to doze off in between paragraphs. It took me four hours to grade four papers. Further disgust and increasing fidgitiness at the elapsing of time.

The rest of the day went by in a happy little tired blur. Class was fine, the meeting about the job market next year was redundant but fine, the busride home was long and capped off by the appearance of an incredible-smelling man wearing a rite-aid plastic bag as a do-rag, coming home and spazzing out for a while was fine and cooking mushroom risotto and watching the devil wears prada with michael was especially fine.

However, I now have to grade midterms. By tomorrow, last day of class. Oh, the dread and sadness that is this task.

THE LISTS

um, I graded papers. That's it.