This clump of weeds (I tell myself as I grasp a handful of Creeping Charlie vines invading our asparagus patch) represents the student who never, throughout an entire semester, figured out how to submit papers electronically (pulling the weeds, tossing them aside) no matter how many times I showed her how.
And this deep-rooted broadleaf (thrusting the tines of the potato fork deep into the soil) is the search committee I served on faithfully (twisting the fork, loosening the roots) without managing to hire anyone (digging deeper, pulling harder) or receiving a word of thanks (will it ever come out?).
And this tiny slip of poison ivy (how did that end up in my hand?) stands for the times I had to convey concerns of faculty members to administrators (more? get it out of here!) whether I agreed with those concerns or not.
And this stubborn stand of dandelions (thrusting the trowel into the ground) is the computer that has been cranky (stabbing the ground) and crippled (stabbing and twisting) and utterly unreliable (twisting and pulling) for more than a year (tossing the weeds aside) until today it finally failed to boot up (kicking the weed pile).
Stupid weeds. Bane of my existence. Still, it's nice to have an avenue (thrusting and stabbing) for the anger that builds up (twisting and pulling) over the course of a complicated semester (tossing and stomping). Better to kick the weed pile than to kick my colleagues.
After all, weeds don't kick back.
2 comments:
Ohh, I don't know. Sounds to me like some of them need a good kicking...
Nettles do. And so does poison ivy, no?
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