Reality

So, I just finished my last honkin-albatross-around-my-neck paper of the semester.  Good. Lord.  And not a moment too soon.  I'm sick of looking at it and I'm sick of thinking about it and I'm totally over the self doubt.  I'm turning this puppy in and DASSIT.

Reality, people.  This is what I look like the vast majority of the time.  Pajamas and all.  I wear them around the house so much that they have several holes in them and I don't care because I have them perfectly worn in and they're like a second skin at this point. 

You may be thinking that I shouldn't stress over this paper, and you're sure I'll do well, blah blah.

Let me stop you right there.

This paper is important because it's like a gazillion per cent of my total grade, but also because I will have this instructor again next semester and most likely again in the future.  She's great.  But she's hard.  And my brain is dead.

I'm actually doing well in this class, despite all my complaints about it.  The problem is that I never feel like I'm doing well.  It's the equivalent of opening your front door three times a week, say, and getting punched in the face.  Immediately afterward, the person says, "Hey, I want you to know that you're doing a great job."  Which makes the biggest impression?  Exactly.

This is next:

 

The cookies are by far the most interesting part of the picture, but see that huge pile of papers underneath?  Yeah.  Those are the student papers that I still need to grade.

I will pay you $1,000 to come over and either grade them or clean my house.

I'm off to get dressed (meh) and go turn this confounded (<--- literally) paper in.  I will then reward myself with a trip to World Market to buy something awesome for our upcoming Supper Club gift exchange.

Then?  It's very likely I will sleep the rest of the day.  Because K-8 craziness and endless tutoring pick up again tomorrow.

Again, I ask you.  Pray tell, what holiday break?????