20150530.0826

Work continues, as it seems ever to do. Today, it will consist of my writing up a novel I bought and read yesterday; I am already a tenth of the way done with the write-up, at least in terms of word-count. (Yes, I get paid by the word--to a point.) The remaining ninety percent will depend on how cooperative Ms. 8 is and what the Mrs. does with her after she gets back from work (she has a half-day at her job today). Naptime for Ms. 8 is work-time for me, and home-time for the Mrs. is also often work-time for me. Such is life.

Something happened with that work yesterday that has not happened for me in at least a decade: I got a bonus. Seriously, the client for whom I have been doing the most work expressed appreciation by posting a bonus order for me, one with explicit instructions to simply paste random text. The bonus was not the largest, certainly, but it was most welcome, both because I need the money and because it is an expression of appreciation I have not often gotten directly. Those who work in the field know that teaching, particularly teaching in the "worthless" or "service-course" humanities, is not the most rewarded of professions--at least not at the time the teaching takes place. Yes, some students shake hands and say "Thanks" on the way out, but they are relatively few against those who show up late, leave early, and complain about doing poorly therefore. And they are few against the legion of administrators and legislators who demand more work with less support, even as they draw more resources to themselves and their aims to stay in positions where they can draw resources to themselves and to their aims. To have gotten a thank-you that was more than merely words--which are often offered because they are cheap--was therefore an unusual event for me, and one most welcome.

I do not expect to receive a bonus; I know it is a gift, which is why I appreciate it so much. I do expect to be paid for the actual work I do, though, and I wonder why that would be a surprise to people; I can already hear objections that I ought only to do the work that I love. Unfortunately, such work does not pay the bills (and those bills and their necessity is a discussion for another time and place); were I able to treat the work as it ought to be treated, I would have many fewer students, because I do not want to have them in my class who do not want to learn, and many who take the classes I am assigned to teach do not want to learn--at least not when they are in my classes. The job is as it is, though, and I know how it is and remain in it even so; perhaps I ought not to complain. Then again, we do not fault the bricklayer for complaining about the sore muscles that inevitably result from the work done, nor the plumber, nor the electrician...