Life Without Teaching

This is the first time in ten years that I'm not preparing for the new semester.

Normally I'd be slamming together my class syllabi, making trips to campus for copying, checking my online rosters to look for students I know, relocating my other-than-pajama-like clothing, and commiserating with my colleagues in disbelief over how instantly our "break" disappeared. Oh God no, we say, the students are coming back. Run for your lives.

Living life on semesters becomes a significant pattern, a little ditch that the monkey of your brain jumps into for 16 weeks, and then back out of for semester break or for summer. And then you stop teaching altogether and the pattern is gone and the monkey stands baffled, scratching his itchy monkey butt, trying to find a ditch to jump into. Ditch gone. Monkey lost.

So what am I doing now that I'm no longer teaching? Mostly flailing in a beastly, frothing sea of uncertainty, and scratching my monkey butt. It is, to say the least, a challenge.

If you were reading this blog when I was sick and tired of being sick and tired of my students and of the drudgery of trying to force the rotten little scum-sucking bast--, um, trying to persuade the slacking 90% of them to do any work, then you may be thinking "Bitch, are you ever happy?"

No.

OK, yes. I have moments of happy. Lots of them. But there are of course pros and cons to every job, and one of the pros is the familiarity. Or wait. Is that a con?

It's both. Two mints in one! (Are you old enough to know that reference?)

I admit it, I already miss being in the classroom. It's in my blood, as they say. It helped turn me into a person. But I truly do need a break. Especially after that ridiculous intro semester at the community college, which felt like the hazing at the gates of Hell. "Here you are, Candy! First, just put on this nice jumpsuit we made for you. Oooh! It fits perfectly! What? Why yes! It is made of agent orange! Now stand over there by Mohammed Atta while we gather up the leeches..."

The things I miss most are back at the Big Giant University. And that has to do with the people there. The colleagues as well as the, dare I say it, higher quality of students. I do not miss the sororities or the fraternities.

If I find that I'm pining away for teaching, I'll go back. Already I'm scheduled to teach a creative writing class this summer. I said yes because it was a fluke of an opportunity, given the way the system works here, even if it does pay the equivalent of a cold pile of horseshit.

Scott is watching all this Candy-tilt from a unique perspective. When he left the rock 'n' roll world 4 years ago and moved from L.A. to Phoenix, he also felt lost in the fog. 18 years in the music business suddenly came to a screeching halt, all because he was brave enough to make a change, and walk away from something that had become wearisome. The process he went through to recalibrate was an arduous one, with flailing and baffled ditch-monkeys of his own, and hope and confusion and pain and the ever-present blazing desert sun. We are very different people, but I find it helpful that he's on the sidelines rooting for me.

Today I went in a completely different direction from teaching college students. I applied to work at a place that provides help for the elderly in their homes. Whatever they need to remain independent. There are people who know me who will do a lot of WTF-ing about this. I'm a little weirded out myself. But at the very least, I wanted to do something that felt worthwhile. Dammit. Did I just turn into a Miss Teen USA contestant? Let me tell you what I hope for in the way of world peace. As soon as I adjust my swimsuit and smear Vaseline on my teeth.

In my mostly-vicious heart, I've got a soft spot for old people. Which, hopefully, on Judgment Day, will balance out how much I generally despise children. At least when they're unleashed.

Next week I go for "training." Guess what's up first? CPR.