I have 93 final portfolios and 24 research papers to evaluate, comment upon, and assign grades to. Then, using a complicated formula I do not really understand, I have to calculate final semester course grades for each student, and post those grades so that they--in turn--can log onto their computers and see whether or not I have ruined their lives.
I have a lot to do.
Or at least I will have, any minute now.
This should be old hat to me by now. By my calculation, I've graded almost 400 essays this semester. But I've done so--more or less--at my leisure:
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Keep your shirts on. I'll grade 'em--when I get good and ready."
These grades, though, have to be posted in less than a week. I don't know what happens if they aren't posted by the deadline. No one I know or heard tell of has ever missed it.
I hadn't realized I was so uptight about this, until I thrashed about in fitful sleep all night--grading papers in my dreams. I'm all tired and grumpy today because essays I haven't even seen yet were gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
It's like having someone say, "I'm going to poke you with this lit cigarette a couple times. In just a minute."
Let's get on with it already.
Image, #5 of Edgar Allan Poe's The Raven by Gustave Doré (1832-1883).