In the best possible sense of the adjective. My school has a long winter weekend, which gave us both this past Friday and Monday off. I had all these grandiose plans taht I’d get a good portion of my lesson planning and grading done, as well as write some.
I did get some grading done, which is always a good thing. And some preparation for next week’s reading assignments with Crime and Punishment. And on Friday, two of my best friends came over for a girls’ night. It was my turn to host and I chose to subject them (for their own good) to the BBC miniseries of North and South, novel by Elizabeth Gaskell. Four hours of Victorian England were preceded by a serving or two of shepherd’s pie, salad, and for dessert: an Americanized version of toffee sponge pudding. I didn’t find the dessert to be comparable, but it was good nonetheless. The shepherd’s pie needed more salt and Worchestershire sauce (can anyone else actually pronounce that correctly?), but it was still good. My friends enjoyed the film and the food and I felt like a good hostess. I was a bit sad that neither wanted any tea after dessert. How can you watch a BBC miniseries and not have tea?
Saturday I did nothing. I did things, yes, but nothing productive. I decided my pajamas were all I needed to wear that day. And my day was full of this:
Tea and Angel. I just felt like watching the spinoff series which I hadn’t watched in several years, unlike Buffy that I can nearly quote all seven seasons. So, I vaguely remembered the many threads of storyline and it was almost like watching it completely new.
But I do feel horrible that I didn’t get more done. However, I’ve been sick since early January and I think my body and my brain just needed a rest. At least, that’s how I’ll rationalize it this evening.
I’m not watching the hockey game this evening, mostly to make a dent in the poetry essays I have to grade. Every time I get to teach poetry analysis (more so than writing poetry), I remember how much I love it. I’ve always ‘gotten’ poetry, ever since my senior year of high school where we spent a whole six weeks on just poetry analysis. I was good at it and really began to enjoy the sound and feel of poetry. Some of my students are like that. Others are not so much, despite spending a lot of time on analyzing.
But since my desk is a mess, this is where I’m working for the evening:
In the far corner, you can see the stack of papers that call to me. With that in mind, I’ll end here.
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