our students have been protesting for 24 days. today, we faculty go and stand with them.
the semester has been chaos. in ways that are often super wonky but also, because WE ARE STILL IN IT, hard to put words to. because it feels like the whole thing will collapse if words are put to it, and we've still three weeks left.
three classes left. because there's a holiday, an asychronous day, and then the last week is only one day.
which doesn't feel like enough and feels like entirely too much.
then we have three weeks to scramble and three weeks to decompress and we're right back into it.
there is never enough time while also being too much.
learning is happening.
teaching is happening.
writing is happening.
i second-guess everything i do, but the rants are suggesting i've done the right thing. the rants tell me they are discovering things about themselves as writers, that they are getting things from the texts, that the theme is helping them. the rants suggest that we were not wasting our time here.
and i do not feel that we have, but i also just cannot even begin to understand what has happened to us this semester. the levels of abuse that have occurred around us.
i thought the spring 2021 semester would be the worst of my life. and, personally and psychologically, i think that's probably still the case.
but this semester has been something else. crushing in way that the others during the pandemic weren't.
this semester, everything has been impossible. and i feel i've done ok in finding things that are possible within that and we've somehow, miraculously, done all of the work i'd set out for us to do in the beginning in a manner that has been minimally harmful to us all.
but whew lord. let's not do this again.