I haven’t had much to say the past couple of days because I’m struggling to dig out from under mountains of grading. Student essays, midterms, quizzes … more than one person has told me I should just throw them up in the air and see which ones land on either side of an arbitrary line. My chemist friend asks if I can’t boil feminist theory down to a Scantron exam: just fill in the bubbles with a number two pencil and watch as sexism melts into air. My mom, the former English teacher, tells me to stop assigning essays. My back, which has slipped out of place again, says I should give everyone an F – except when I’m adequately medicated, in which case everyone deserves an A.
I wish that I could miraculously reverse my own learning process and spew my comments effortlessly onto my students’ work in a process of counter-osmosis.
Oh, wait. Grey Kitty was the master of that in her day. Most people called it … hairballs.