Eek! I haven't done my final grades! I got through all the hustle and bustle of reading those blasted portfolios (can I just insert: probably 90% of them included poems. EVERY single poem included the following: reference to a "black" or "crying" soul, reference to the greatness and/or unattainableness of love, reference to getting fucked up, (ok, all of that I totally get) and reference to the hotness of cars--which throws me for a big old loop--cars are hot? Really? Am I so terribly out of touch?). And now, when all I must do is pick an appropriate letter for each of them from a drop-down menu on the computer? Nope. Too much effort. Wastrel, me. With no endgame.

I don't know what to say about today. Except that it was a good day, except that it was an exceptionally good day. I'm holding it close.

I keep anticipating a response from my students about the letters I wrote them. Can't seem to let go--I've got empty nest syndrome. They're all off, gallivanting with their newer better teachers and I'm left staring at my grade book, telling myself stories about how they'll call and write. But they never will. Sigh.