I’ve pulled off a 9 day streak so far on writing 750 per day for the blog if you count yesterday–admittedly questionable–when I wrote it, erased it, and replaced it with something else much shorter. It has been quite a little writing marathon on my part, I must say. It’s made my life interesting, and maybe it has achieved my original goal of strengthening my writing through the sheer act of practice.
I cannot promise 750 words tonight, however, because it is late, and I am tired, and I have written well beyond that many words in comments on student drafts today. But here I am in front of my blog, thinking I might give it a try even though I might also fail because that’s the only way anyone ever accomplishes anything.
Today was a day. It was indeed a day. I had an avalanche of ungraded papers. I told myself it was a feet to the floor, butt to the chair, no distractions allowed sort of day. I sat down at my desk with every good intention, read a student paper, typed out a longish response, and hit save only to see that pretty little error message that means the Internet is out, and everything you’ve just typed has been lost. Repeat this process over and over, and you have my morning. I hope you are properly awed at my capacity to refrain from tossing the computer out the window.
The Internet went in and out, which I believe is worse than just being out, and I believe is also something that could possibly be sung to the tune of “The wheels on the bus go round and round.” This could be a source of entertainment while the Internet is out.
So I persevered, plowed my way out from under one avalanche by the grace of God and a home wi-fi system. Then I went to a smell-good-bath-stuff home party, a somewhat brave move considering I’m allergic to everything that smells good. I sat next to E of eLearning, who is also allergic to everything that smells good. Someone asked us why we weren’t laughing, and we said in unison, “It’s been a long week.” The Internet goes in and out, in and out, in and out. The Internet goes in and out all day long.
All day long.
But there were prizes to be had at the smell good party. E drew wrinkle cream. I drew something called monkey farts. At that point we were laughing.
Wrinkle cream and monkey farts might just be the best you can hope for at the end of a day like this.
Tomorrow it will be a butt on the couch, feet on the coffee table grading marathon via the old home wi-fi system. I fantasize about a life in which weekends belong to me, but only the coffee table belongs to me, and that’s only because it came cheap at someone’s yard sale.
And so it is that I find myself still short of 750 words after 11 at night when I have a hard Saturday ahead. I have to ask myself now if I really care that I fail. The answer is hazy, says the Magic 8-Ball. Nah. Probably not, says Sharon.
