20150820.0638

Today ought to be an interesting day. I intend to take Ms. 8 around to one or two places in town to let her play, theoretically with other children. (I do not know if any will be present, although I rather expect that they will.) I also have an eye appointment this afternoon, since the optometrists here actually follow up on their concerns that I might be developing glaucoma and I have insurance that will allow me to meet with them to do the follow-up visits. (Today is supposed to be a check-up visit, making sure things are not worse than they were. I show up with high intraocular pressure--go figure--and one or two of the structures at the back of my eyes seem to be oddly formed. The former occasions questions about whether or not I am getting glaucoma. The latter monkeys around with the usual next test to see if I actually am.) So that should be fun.

I also need to get to work on some freelancing. There are two orders waiting for me, both of which promise to pay decently, and I need the money. Academic work never stops; indeed, I just saw a call for papers that seems in line with what I do, and I have another paper that needs writing. Job applications continue to await my attention, as well, and I fear some of them are getting somewhat stale. Laundry needs to be done, too, as I need to have more pants than I currently have available. (I am trying to dress a bit more professionally this term than I did last.) And there are many other chores to which to attend, as well, the daily work of keeping a house decent despite its age and the infirmities that attend on age after less-than-assiduous maintenance. (I am aware that it is a warning for me. I am taking small steps. Playing more actively with Ms. 8 is among them; the little girl can move quickly, and she likes to move toward things that are not entirely good for her. Interdiction becomes useful exercise.)

There are also other things to consider, to contemplate. In class yesterday, I had a student break into tears. It was not the first time that such a thing has happened to me, but it was the first for the new term, and it was not occasioned by any of my directed comments. (In the past, when a student has started crying, it has usually been as a result of reading my critiques of the work submitted. Yesterday's incidence was not a case of this.) It came as something of a shock, as I had done nothing to prompt such a response; yesterday was an in-class-writing day, and the prompt was carefully neutral. A bit of talk got the student calmed down, but I remained--and remain--somewhat shaken. What kind of environment is at work that such things happen? How am I to deal with it, especially when I find myself stymied by what I must do in a day?