Monday, August 24, 2015

20150824.0621

I did manage to push through my freelance piece yesterday, drafting it and seeing it accepted by the client. It was good to do, not least because it opens me up for other work--of which I have more than enough to do. Among others, I am now reading a recent novel because another person's write-up of it needs fixing; I will be doing the fixing, but I cannot do it without knowing what the errors are, and that means I need to read the book to find out what happens in it. And there is another order to come, likely tomorrow when new novels emerge; I have been told to expect the work, and that the work will be somewhat urgent. It is a good thing, as it means more money to support my household, and I will happily take all of that I can get.

The semester continues today, entering its second week. My class rosters should be more or less stable at this point, so I will finally be able to build my gradebooks and attendance sheets; I resist doing so before rosters are firm, as I dislike having to add new students to my records. Office hours today will therefore be a bit busy, as I will need to transfer the information from the physical, ad hoc attendance sheets I had previously compiled to my more formal records, and that takes a little bit of time even for me. Some grades need entering, as well, and others may well be incoming, as I am not sure whether my students believe I have quizzes ready for them against their non-reading and non-participation. I also need to set up the usual materials yet; events of the weekend have kept me from getting ahead on my teaching materials as I normally do, although I am not behind as I know will soon come to pass. I can only juggle so much at a time, after all, and only for so long before I begin to drop balls.

My father-in-law is in the hospital with heart trouble. I'll not go into specifics, but there was a scare; he seems to be more or less okay at this point, but my Mrs. is worried--appropriately--and is trying to keep herself busy so that she can avoid focusing on that worry. Ms. 8 seems happy to oblige her desire to remain occupied; she has been acting out more than usual lately, which has not been pleasing to either her mother or me. I know it is wholly natural that she should do so; it is a thing that toddlers do, and at eighteen months, Ms. 8 is very much a toddler. She knows there are words and she tries to form them, but they do not always work well, and I can understand the frustration therein. I can also understand the frustration at being thwarted by those against whom resistance is futile. (Ms. 8 has long since been assimilated.) That I understand things does not mean I take joy in them, though; it is hard to be happy with a child who screams with anger for more than an hour, relenting only long enough to draw breath and begin again...

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