It's that time of the semester I call "The Funnel."
Suddenly all the projects, papers to grade, stories to write, year-end wrap-up kind of things begin swirling around faster and faster and the time available to do them gets smaller and smaller.
The endless vista of the semester turns to a frenetic race to the finish line.
Perhaps a better analogy would be what the pioneers faced when they came west and first started over the Rockies. When it became obvious that the pipe organ couldn't be hauled over, or the furniture, or, or, or, they started simply discarding things one by one, littering the trails. People behind them in wagons picked up the furniture, but not for long. Too heavy, and the trails were too steep.
This semester, jettisoning anything seems nearly impossible: the stack of papers to grade is four inches tall, two story deadlines loom, and at least a first cut at finding all those income tax records has to be accomplished before we leave for Mexico just before Christmas.
The Funnel. Someday I'll figure out how to avoid it.
Oh, wait. I'll retire! Then it will get easier.
When I leave the university in three years or less(i.e. retire from state service), I'm sure I'll create another funnel for myself with writing and movie making.
But first I have to survive this one.
A class of '74 SWCS classmate passes away
4 weeks ago