It feels like a secret identity at times to live several very distinct lives… the heavy expectations of others are a crippling onus at times… and none more so than the expectations that I have for myself.
Spent a few days setting up my office, stocking the shelves with the correct books (course loads, not affectations) when it was made clear to me that where furniture is placed matters. There is a psychological effect. The school provided chairs, which though nice and new, just were not comfortable. Useless for those moments when I want to be close and at hand… I need comfortable chairs set around a coffee table for that. I do not wish to intimidate the undergrads. I will save intimidation for others.
Then there is the desk, the brutal throwback to the industrial revolution. It acts as a barrier as much as anything else. Set to the side it dominates a corner of the room. I imagine my meetings with the faculty to be held over that desk… that impressive edifice of strength and position. Instead of diplomas, I will hang pictures taken for a few of my more “outrageous” readings. Costumes and Drama. Poetry is not for the weak of will.
Still, though I know that this me… I shall feel at times like a phony. Yet, so help me, I am so happy to be back at the University. I hate teaching, but I love the feel of the place.
Spent a few days setting up my office, stocking the shelves with the correct books (course loads, not affectations) when it was made clear to me that where furniture is placed matters. There is a psychological effect. The school provided chairs, which though nice and new, just were not comfortable. Useless for those moments when I want to be close and at hand… I need comfortable chairs set around a coffee table for that. I do not wish to intimidate the undergrads. I will save intimidation for others.
Then there is the desk, the brutal throwback to the industrial revolution. It acts as a barrier as much as anything else. Set to the side it dominates a corner of the room. I imagine my meetings with the faculty to be held over that desk… that impressive edifice of strength and position. Instead of diplomas, I will hang pictures taken for a few of my more “outrageous” readings. Costumes and Drama. Poetry is not for the weak of will.Still, though I know that this me… I shall feel at times like a phony. Yet, so help me, I am so happy to be back at the University. I hate teaching, but I love the feel of the place.
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