Nancy's Musings

 My Facebook peeps already know about this, and you're being awesome, I assure you. But this is gonna be a thing with me, and I'm sorry. But it is. This song, by the Arrogant Worms, has been a favorite of mine for many, many years, but I have never felt it quite as deeply in my sads as I do this year. I did not accomplish much. Anything, really. But I didn't die this year, which (what number are we up to? 350,000 Covid-19 deaths?) lots and lots of people can't say. Y'all know I can gripe about being underemployed. That has shifted in a direction, but still remains in force. I can gripe about being single, although some days, the more men I talk to, the better I feel about being single/Never married, because I just. . . some people's exes. . . I feel for them. Solidarity, sisters. And then there's the "happy Mormon" option of counting blessings/vomiting gratitude. I mean - I have no problems with happiness, and seriously NO problems with gratitude! ...

 Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday I leave my classroom feeling certain that I have said something that will end my career*. I think through everything I said. I gloss through each chatty or digressive moment. I flinch and gasp as I drive home, wondering what people who see my face must think of me, grimacing to myself.** I have said things I shouldn't have, and the consequences were catastrophic professionally, personally, and interpersonally. Consequences are necessary, but must they necessarily be nuclear? I needed to learn to see things from my students' perspectives, to understand how to make the room safe for learning. Not all of us come by that knowledge instinctively, and not everybody's primary discourse is conducive to teaching. But what is the point of learning if my supervisor says, "You're not going to try to teach again, are you," inflecting it as a recommendation rather than a question? What could I have said? I agreed that it wasn't for m...

 I feel like I blog about dating a lot. I think it's because I lost the journal I usually use to write out my experiences and feelings about the guys. I do apologize if I'm boring both of my readers. So mixed in with the general male rejection of me, which is to be expected and isn't a thing I'm worried about correcting at the moment, another pattern is beginning to emerge: men who date like fireworks - it explodes pretty for a few minutes, and then fizzles and dies. Covid still exists. It's by parts mundane and overwhelmingly horrifying, and there's not really a way to predict which will happen to any one person. It causes brain damage, permanent heart damage, and fatigue in otherwise healthy individuals who may or may not experience symptoms. I'm willing to take precautions to avoid it, and the fewer precautions the public takes, the more I am willing to avoid everybody else. Many men express a preference for in-person contact, and normally, I'd agree ...