31 Temmuz 2018, Salı
saat: 22:43
I received this email a full four weeks before the class started, right after the course became "available" online but before I'd posted the final syllabus: "Im in your class this fall and I cant seem to open the syllabus. Also id like to know if the first discussion question needs to be posted by the first day or Thursday the 30st. Im also working this summer so if you could send me that syllabus i will be able to more accurately allocate my time in the workplace." I let him know that the course hadn't begun yet, so there were no deadlines for him to worry about.
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This summer has been -- well, it’s been something. Every year I look forward to summer, and then, usually after the first few weeks of summer, the depression and anxiety hit: I am not being productive enough. I am not writing enough. This is not my FIRST summer break as an academic, so I know a sure recipe for burnout is to worry away summer while thinking about Fall. But the entire academia has a weird way of looking at the summers: as research "breaks." We're not supposed to enjoy the summer, put on a floppy hat and go get some margaritas, or drive to the ocean and let our brains have a break. No. No way. Because we have a heavy teaching load during the school year, summer is when we catch up on research, despite being on nine-month appointments. The prevalent mood seems to be that "sure, we're working, but for most of August we don't have to teach that 8am class yet or crush on the highway/trains/buses for the morning commute" so people are happy with what they have.
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I'm baffled at how quickly the summer goes. It springs, flies, shoots past. The speed of summer cannot be calculated. It's Einstein-ian. It collapses, folds, triples in mass, whatever.
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The cherry on top was my meeting with the Dean. It was a special hour of crazy we shared. Dean admitting they messed up the paperwork. Dean telling me that I was going to be re-hired, but I needed to re-apply for the fake search and that there could be another candidate the department liked and wanted to keep. Dean letting me know this wasn't the first time this happened because they missed the deadlines before. Dean complaining about how little institutional structure there is in here. I kept smiling, he kept apologizing, but each new utterance was worse than the last.
I don't know why, but it hit me harder than the others. Maybe because I was so excited for the next step, with A.'s new job and a possible change in the marital status, and it turned into one of the most ridiculous experiences of my life. Immediately after our meeting (and before the "postmortem" with M. ) I returned to my office, sat down on my chair, and spent the better part of an hour staring at the bookshelves and reviewing the decisions that had brought me to this low point. I know half of being an adult is dealing with others' incompetencies but I am also afraid that I don't have enough publications and this is going to come to haunt me in the end.
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Back to the square one.
"Sooner or later, one way or another, the workplace will steal your dignity."
