20141215.0925

Twenty-seven years, now, my brother has been among us. I have already called to wish him a happy birthday, and I will likely do so again.

With his birthday come the reminders that a holiday is near and that gifts for it are expected. The reminder comes, too, that I have not gotten all of the gifts I need to send out, and I am not pleased with myself. It bespeaks to me a failure of my duties as a member of my family; I benefit from gifts received, and so I ought to contribute to that same system of gift-giving.

I remember many of the gifts I have been given. A great many of them still grace my bookshelves and other parts of my home, serving to remind me of what I owe and to whom. That I track things in such terms does not argue favorably for me, admittedly; with those close to me, I ought to be past the mercantile or mercenary principle. We should be past owing and being owed. Yet I feel a sense of indebtedness, and such is the way I have been shaped that I cannot readily set it aside. Holding onto it does no good, but I know not how to release it.

In the wake of final exams and grades being submitted, student complaints have begun. I could wish to quote some of them, actually; what students think is convincing rhetoric is amusing--or would be were it not so sad. But I expect that there will be trouble once again, and even though I fully expect to have my findings borne out, I do not look forward to once again going through the process of grade appeals. They annoy me greatly--although not as much as offering the kinds of grades that would deflect student complaints (not least because doing so--giving all As to all students--would attract the unfavorable attention of my supervisors, and I already end up in trouble with them).

Truly, it is the most wonderful time of the year. There should be time to work on The Work, and I indeed mean to do so. There should be time to work on more freelance writing; I have a job waiting for me already, and I look forward to getting it done. There should *not* be so much to do about the term just ended; I ought to be able to set it aside in favor of what is to come, but it seems that I cannot. Ah, well, such is the glamorous life in the ivory tower--tacks in the seats and all.