Floored

The highlight of my day arrived in the hallway after class when a student--not an English major!--asked me to briefly explain postmodernism; he listened attentively, asked great follow-up questions, and seemed to understand--and then expressed interest in taking another literature class even though he doesn't need one to graduate. I walked away feeling competent, quick-witted, and ready to tackle any challenge.

That's not how I felt later when I tripped over an errant piece of office furniture and fell flat on my face in front of my first-year seminar students. Even while I was insisting "I'm fine, I'm fine" (I'm not fine), I wanted to kick myself for being such a klutz, and I would still do so if I could find a part of my body that wasn't already hurting.

It wouldn't have happened, of course, if I hadn't been trying to do too many things at once. I used to be pretty good at multitasking, but yesterday I spent 14 hours on campus with only one break from work and by the time I got to the point last evening when I had promised to show an out-of-class movie for my students, my multitasking skills had been thoroughly depleted. Further, this is the time in the semester when the tank empties out pretty quickly, and as I look ahead, it will only get worse: advising appointments and evening meetings crowd my schedule for the next two weeks. In fact, today is the only day this week when I can foresee leaving campus before 5.

And so when I'm told that we need to be doing more to help our students succeed, I want to lie back down on the floor and cry. If I can't competently do what I already need to do, how can I possibly do more?

I know I sound like a stick-in-the-mud, especially since I've always been among the early adopters of new methods and programs. When learning communities were supposed to transport our students to new heights of engagement, I hopped on board the learning communities bus and did my best to keep it running, and I've been involved in teaching and sometimes helping to design every iteration of our freshman seminar. I have assessed and workshopped and engaged enough to fill up thousands of Buzzword Bingo cards, and I've continued to teach learning communities even after the stipend was reduced to a pittance.

But I've reached my limit. My schedule is filled to bursting, my patience is worn to shreds, and  my ability to remain upright in front of my classes has taken a beating. Pile one more demand on my back and I'm likely to fall to the floor--and next time I may not be so quick to get back up again. I can explain postmodernism from a prone position if the need arises--just be careful not to walk all over me.