You’ll notice that I left out that comma up there, leaving that title very ambiguous. Look at me being all teacher-y.
So we covered grammar on Tuesday, or, more importantly, we covered commas. I think that, if I wasn’t fearing mutiny before, I should be fearing it now. Take a bunch of 18-year-olds, trap them in a room for an hour and 40 minutes, and ram a bunch of confusing punctuation rules down their throats, and you’re just asking for trouble. At the end I asked them what about grammar they wanted to learn about in later class periods, and I actually waited for an answer. After some mutterings, I got the “well, you’re the teacher, we all hate this. So it’s your job to figure out what we’re supposed to learn.” …okay then. If y’all want a dictator, then a dictator you shall have (but in retrospect asking the question in the first place was sort of a bad call on my part. They’re like puppies–they want structure, even if they don’t know it).
I think it went *mostly* alright though. They won’t remember anything, except maybe the comma splice, but we have the rest of the semester to work on it. I was supposed to cover parts of speech today, but considering the restless stirring of the troops, I decided it was time to switch tactics. We’re sort of in creative writing mode today, with a game included, so hopefully that will go better.
Then again, I’m introducing their first paper today, so I may have already shot myself in the foot. Like a coward, I am waiting until the class has already begun to send out the assignment sheet.
What, they’re intimidating…
But, to inspire confidence in myself, I did dress the part to be a professor today (yes, this is where we get to the fashion woes). Bought a new jacket, and it practically has freaking elbow patches. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I own a BLAZER. I am a MATURE ADULT.
…And, as I very maturely strode across the street to catch the bus to work, I ripped the back stitch out of my pencil skirt.
Lesson learned: one should not stride maturely in a skirt that normally makes it a challenge to climb stairs.
It’s just a sort of decorative split in the lower quarter of the back of the skirt, so it’s not like I’ll be stuck showing my nickers to the college at large, but I feel so much less put together with my flap… flapping. But here in lies the advantage to being a blind professor: I don’t have to turn my back on them to write on the chalkboard. So unless some little creep is intentionally staring at my butt, I’m pretty much home free. Win.
Hey, I take my victories where I can get them. You rip your skirt on the way to work and see what you have left to work with.
Now, off to drink tea and write the rest of this lesson plan, enjoying the fact that it’s like 60 degrees outside, and therefore not a furnace in my office.
Welcome to fall.
ETA: FIRST PAYDAY OMG YAY!