Unlike some of my faculty colleagues, I never put my home phone number on my course syllabus. But I'm in the phone book, and my name is, safe to say, pretty unique in town if not the entire country. (Even Google concurs.) So, a student looks me up in the book and calls me with a question late last night — unconscionably late — rousing me in mid-dream panic. (It was one of those crazy chase dreams.) After I snapped and crankily hung up on the fellow, he emails me this morning gushing with apologies.
We're all a bit tense this week: it's final exam time. I have a hundred students (forty master's, sixty undergrad) and I'm administering exams today and tomorrow. I'm also doing combat with an intractable blog post which I hope to have wrestled to the ground and ready for you in a day or two.
I like academia and will likely spend the rest of my life here. But I will never ever miss being a student during the week of final exams [shiver]: Far better to grade them than to take them.