Try Troll-Be-Gone today!

I drove into town this morning carrying a load of glumness that sat like a lumpy and malignant troll clutching my shoulders. I've been carrying that troll around since I got back from my brief spring-break trip and started tackling the pile of detritus burying my life. I tried to wear out the troll with housework--taking down curtains, washing windows, cleaning carpets--but it just squeezed its sharp claws into my shoulders and held on.

I went for walks. I ate chocolate. I tried to write. The troll hung on.

It was still hanging on when I got to the office, unpacked my bag full of unfinished projects, booted up my computer, and started scrolling through my inbox. More work, more demands, more bleh...the troll settled in and started to grumble and groan.

Then I happened upon a batch of reading comments from my literature students, brief e-mailed responses to Grace Paley's "A Conversation with my Father" and Donald Barthelme's "The Balloon." I sighed, shifted the troll to a less dismal position, and started reading.

And smiling.

And laughing.

That's when the troll got uncomfortable. If there's one thing trolls simply can't stand, it's a good belly laugh.

Barthelme alone can make me laugh while Paley is more likely to make me cry, but my students' thoughtful responses made me eager to get back in the classroom. They apologized for not entirely understanding the stories (who does?), but then they asked terrific questions (Why store the balloon in West Virginia? Why can't Paley's narrator and the father talk about what's really bothering them?) and made some leaps toward analysis (Are these authors really writing about writing stories?).

As I read, the troll slunk down, loosened its grip, starting slipping down my back. Then a problem walked in the door, distracting me enough to allow the troll to dig its dirty claws right into my spine.

Then I went to class and started teaching--balloons and oxygen tanks, signs and stories--and as I walked around the room waving my arms, asking questions, easing students toward engagement with complex ideas, the troll slunk away so quietly that I didn't even notice until he was gone.

And he's still gone. I hope he stays gone for a while, but if the troll comes back lugging his sack of glumness, I know where to find the antidote.