No, thank you for helping me procrastinate.
I have taken on far too much this semester, as I think I have mentioned before, but right now I am on spring break. So far, this break has consisted of a weekend of relaxation (much needed), getting some very important (read: overdue) housework and errands done, the answering of emails (many, but sadly, not all of them), and the revision of essays. In fact, that last activity has been a lovely and also much needed chance to revisit that inner part of me that wears this:
(There is also the part of me that, when revising, occasionally yells, “Oh! Right! I’d forgotten! I can write!” at which the one in the t-shirt rolls her eyes.)
My point, lest you think I’d forgotten to make one, is that I’m very glad to have this writing time. I’ve revived three pieces that had been sitting, waiting for a good place to be submitted, and I found such a match (hope the editors agree). I’ve turned some connected scenes into an actual essay, rather than the snapshots ‘n’ whitespace they were when last I saw them. And for the next round, I’ve found targets for 3-6 other pieces in various stages of readiness and revision.
Unfortunately, on the heels of this “yay! writing! woohoo!” feeling, dampening the high, is a feeling of guilt for procrastinating work on my teaching plate. Not that I can’t and won’t get it done before the end of break, but I have an inescapable nagging sensation that I should have put it first. How do we draw these lines? How do we balance between the classroom work that we love and the creative work we live for?
Actually, that’s melodramatic. In truth, I don’t mind having this dilemma at all. What I mind is feeling I’m doing either thing less well than I could be, that my priorities are, objectively, wrong. As I begin to weigh my opportunities for fall teaching, I wonder: How many classes are too many to take on to both teach and write with the attention and intention they each deserve? How long can I do shots of submission with chasers of grading?
