Back to "Work," Part 1

Bitch PhD (Happy New Year) is in full pre-semester prep and me, too—got to the hotel where displaced (read: temporarily homeless) faculty and all our students will live for 8 a.m. The Provost told us to hug each other. Then the president, after a long story about a number 1 Rose Bowl float that ran out of gas, told us to hug ourselves and give ourselves a round of applause. My colleagues and I paid $10 to park for 15 minutes of hugging, self-hugging and clapping. No offices were assigned, no plans were revealed, no update on campus repairs or the alleged shuttle that will take us the 15 blocks from the hotel to our office space, no VPs (for a change). Like I told my chair, I could’ve stayed home and found someone to hug me.

Syllabi? What’s that again? Writing? Huh? I didn’t meet a professor there ready to teach, much less read a newspaper article. I am staying in denial.