Pretty Good Pedagogy

Last night I dreamt I had to teach a class I had forgotten to plan. I didn’t know what the title of the class was, only that it was English 106. The class was full and I had no syllabus, and no idea what I was doing.

So I had them go around the room and introduce themselves and talk about how they felt about writing. I figured I was supposed to be teaching them some version of academic writing. Then when they started to complain that they didn’t know how they felt about writing, I made them freewrite and then go around the class and introduce themselves.

That was pretty good pedagogy for a dream.

August has always been my favorite month. This morning I was particularly sad to see it was gone already. I was supposed to finish my book this summer. School starts next week, and I am to be an adjunct clause. DP starts teaching today. I’d take a picture of him in his backpack outside the house for his first day, but no one wants to see that scowl. Today, for me, is the end of summer.

I am a quarter of the way through entering my final edits, and I’m pretty sure I’m losing my mind. I thought it was going to be done by the end of August, now I’m thinking the end of the week. I’ve cleared my editorial calendar for this week and by god it’s going to get done.

Yesterday I turned to my friend/housemate and said, “You know what? This sentence isn’t very good, but I don’t fucking care. It could be worse.” F/H giggled, which only encouraged me. “I can’t decide to not make every edit, but I’m not changing that one. So there.”

I don’t know if last night’s dream was about writing anxiety or teaching anxiety. But the message is that I can do it. What will I do without my faithful companion, the fucker that has been with me for six years? Probably I will die. But not today. Today I will fight.

What are you fighting?


5 responses to “Pretty Good Pedagogy

    • Only we commonwealthy people have to worry about things like uniforms. When we arrived from the US to [name of country redacted] my then-twelve year-old son was mortified to think he would have to wear grey shorts, black shoes and a tie. Such an embarrassment! But, if you lived in [name of country redacted] you wouldn’t be worrying about uniforms right now. It’s the middle of our school year. We can fret with that later…

  1. Fighting with the “finished” One-Match Stories; waiting for my reader’s response and then I’ll be going through them, again. Then fighting the fear/anxiety of actually trying to get the collection out there for consideration. Ugh! Fighting other things not to be named. Fighting sloth. Fatigue. Ennui. Oh, other things, too, I’m sure. Fighting me overuse of commas, but not fighting too hard, it seems, for now.

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