Office hours. I have those now. Because I am a professor.
It's still weird.
I'm writing from my little cubicle in the RAJ, where I will spend an hour and a half every Monday and Wednesday, even though I'm nearly certain no students will come to see me unless forced. Which isn't to say they don't like me--one of my students told me today that I'm one of his favorite professors this semester. I appreciate the vote of confidence, but I hope he knows that flattery will get his grade absolutely nowhere. I think he might know that, actually; the same student asked: "when does college get fun?" Hilarious. I told him that it's probably already more fun than he thinks, and that when he graduates and starts working in the real world he will likely long for even his introductory courses. That's the way it happened with me, anyway.
Yesterday I had my first Forms of Fiction class with Maile Chapman. Our focus is American Gothic, and the syllabus makes me nothing short of giddy. We get to read Poe and Lovecraft and O'Connor--right up my alley. And for our final project, we have to write a piece of gothic fiction. I already have some ideas oozing around in my brain. A word map may already be scrawled in my notebook. We shall see what comes from all this.
I have just realized that I left my notebook in CBC, where I teach. Great. Why am I always so absentminded?