I'm not one who usually resorts to comfort foods, but today's been one of those days. Not the crappiest day, certainly not. But, I could certainly be cheerier, especially given that the sun is out and the weather's gorgeous. Spoke with the department chair this morning. Seems prospects for us are grim. The position Troy has this year was converted from a history lecturer position. After this academic year, that position will return to the history side of the department. However, they will ask for one, just ONE, philosophy lecturer position. From what I understand, they haven't asked for it, yet. So, one of us might (might is the operative word) get to work full-time and the other might get a chance to teach part-time, for peanuts. You have to understand, I'm simply venting at the moment. The department, especially the department chair, has bent over backwards to try and help us. He is to be given full credit for the fact that one of us is always home with our little one; and we've had no need to put her in day care.
I'm already in a bad mood, thinking about financial matters and how we're going to provide for our little one in the upcoming academic year. . . Then I was stupid enough to research the photojournalist who was famous for taking startling pictures of atrocities in South Africa, receiving a Pulitzer Prize for a photo of a vulture watching a starving child in Sudan, and, committing suicide not long after receiving the award. A picture can be seen at the following npr website: A Pulitzer-Winning Photographer's Suicide.
A glance at that picture sent me into an undescribable level of sadness and despair. Quickly I realized that my life's problems are nothing, compared to those of that child. And I felt very useless and helpless. There are so many, so many, dying of famine daily. . .
Continuing in my irrational mode, the time spanning my office hours was coming to a close. About fifteen minutes remained. I was pumping milk. I closed the door to our office and put a note above the door handle: "Knock. I'm pumping." Just a few minutes before I was to finish pumping, someone knocked on the door. I asked who it was. All I heard was "a student." Assuming it was one of my students, I made myself presentable and answered the door. Turns out it was one of Troy's students. He was looking for him and was wondering what his office hours are. Aaaaarrrrrggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh. Do people not bother looking at the syllabi we work so hard to craft for them?! I asked him if he had a copy of the syllabus. Affirmative. I told him I could not remember when his office hours are, which was and is true, and I told him to refer to his syllabus. I'm like, holy cow, this guy interrupted my pumping milk for information he has somewhere already! We don't freakin' make syllabi for our own benefit; that's for the students' informational purposes. They want to be treated and respected like adults. I have no problems with that so long as they can start acting like responsible adults.
Alright, I'm done venting. Blah, blah, blah. I went to Starbucks and got a Caramel Apple Cider in the biggest size. Yay.
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