Done.

Last Tuesday, I typed in all of my final grades for the semester. Since I started teaching seven years ago, I always put in the grades and then take time to look at each student and consider the grade that they're getting for the class before I click on the "Submit" button. The math says that they should get a C... when I consider their time with me over the course of the semester, do they deserve a C? It's always bizzare-o to me that math, my least favorite thing (next to avacados, mullets, and militancy, of course), accurately predicts whether a student, with all of his/her complexities, benefits, and liabilities, deserves a C or a D. This begs the question "What does a grade really mean, though?" which I shan't delve into at this point, as I have already entered my grades and am no longer interested in thinking about it.

The thing with getting done with grades, though, is that a person kind of has to keep it on the down-low. I finished on Tuesday, and grades weren't due until the following Monday. Coworkers' responses to the news that I was done with the semseter nice and early ranged from "Wow!" to "Hmmgrrph." I certainly don't think that I'm a big deal for finishing my grades early, by any means, but I learned quickly to downplay the gleeful tone gilding the edges of my voice. It goes something like this:

I say, "Well, Todd (no, I don't actually work with a Todd), how are you doing this fine finals week?"

Todd sighs deeply and/or rolls his eyes heavenward. "I'm working on it. I still have 5,492 quizzes to run through the scantron, and unfortunately, I asked twelve essay questions instead of two this semester, so I have about 140 hours worth of work left to do. How about you?"

"Huh!" I say. "That's a lot (it's critical to be appropriately impressed with the amount of work to be done. We teachers thrive on others being in awe of the awesomeness of our occupation). I'm totally amazed; I don't know how you do all that work. As far as I go, I have been positively swamped with work the past couple of weeks, and the students have really been on my case about hurrying up and getting the grades in; you know how it goes. I entered my grades today, but you wouldn't believe all of the filing and office cleaning I have to do because it's such a mess in there, and of course I'm finishing up my committee work for the year, too."

I stop, waiting for the critical reponse. Have I appropriately couched my stunningly wonderful news between awe and mention of the piles of work still to be done?

"Yes," Todd says gravely. "We work very hard, don't we."

Success!

So it's the end of a semester, but not just any semester, spring semester, which means that the summer is yawning before me. I stay up past 11:00 sometimes, and now that it's not randomly snowstorming in April, I can use my bike as my main mode of transportation (yes, this makes me feel very self-righteous. And buff.). I have also been reading through all of Jane Austen's books (yes, this too makes me feel self-righteous). What's fascinating about these novels is that it is sooo jacked up how propriety is postively critical to success in life. So I'm reading Northanger Abbey right now, and there's the heroine, Catherine, right? She's got this girlfriend who gets engaged to her brother, and believe me, when an engagement has happened at this time period, it's ON like DONKEY KONG. There's NO messing around. It's a done deal. So anyway, Catherine and this girlfriend, Isabella, are at this place where all the rich people hang out to talk and stare at each other, and Isabella is approached by this other dude (who happens to be the older brother of Catherine's sorta-secret love), and he gets all up in her grill about how she's teasing him and he wants to hook up with her. Catherine isn't supposed to hear, but she does. And what happens? She sits there, all disturbed, pretending that she doesn't hear, and over the next couple of days, it is practically eating her alive. Now, if YOU were Catherine and you had this best bud Isabella who might be screwing over your brother, wouldn't you be apt to sit her down and ask, "My dear, what could you mean by all of this carrying-on with Captain Tilney when your sentiments are already most agreeably engaged to my dear brother, James?" Please. Instead, Catherine hems and haws and finally brings it up with the not-so-secret love and brother to Captain Tilney, and because she's so totally in love with him (the brother, not the Captain), and he says, "Hey, sweet pea, don't worry about it. Everyone will get a good chuckle out of this little bit of sport in just a few months' time," she's like, "Oh, you're SOOO right; how could I be so foolish." It's just silly. Then there's this other guy who is a total jerkface who keeps hitting on Catherine, and she has to be very nice to him even though he's such an ass. Any other gal might slap this dude upside the head, but because he's a dude and it's 1700s England, we all have to maintain appearances. It's both insane and fascinating.

Anyway, sorry. I got a little caught up there. It's just that once I'm done with Northanger it's on to Persuasion, and then I'm done with Austen's books. I only had one break for Love in the Time of Cholera (I'd give it a 5--neither inspiring nor insulting). So it's been a bit consuming. If you haven't read any Austen, go directly to Pride and Prejudice, do not pass "Go," do not collect two hundred dollars. Then watch the movie... Colin Firth??? Delicious.

Whoops, sorry, caught up again. Let me end this post with a trite cliche lest I lapse into the almost Christ-like goodness of the main character of Mansfield Park:

I'm totally looking forward to this summer! It's going to be sooo much fun!!!!! I hope to talk to all of you soon! :) :) :)

Yep.