The bummer is that I had to sit inside most of the day, working at the public library, while the most intense snow that I’ve seen in Georgia was going on outside. The nice thing is that it’s still nothing next to an Indiana snow, and I’m not going to have to shovel.
I’m feeling better about comps right now than I have for a while. I’ve got a grasp of the contours of my field, I’ve read somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty plays, some from Seneca and the medieval mystery guilds as well as a bunch from Marlowe and Shakespeare and Jonson and Middleton and Fletcher, and I’m likely to take down a Congreve or two this week before I meet with Dr. Teague to talk on Thursday.
I’m also feeling more like a professor than I ever have before. My classes are going well this semester, and although I have to give some credit to the talent level that the vicissitudes of college registration have passed me, I also know that I’m better at this than I was in 2000 or 2003 or even 2005. I’m thinking like a teacher and talking like a teacher and planning like a teacher. I did an inventory of my teaching experiences in all venues from the last thirteen years or so, and I really can’t remember a stretch of more than four months or so when I wasn’t teaching some kind of formal class on at least a weekly basis either in a church setting or in a college classroom. I’ll only be thirty-one in April, yet I’ve been teaching regularly and deliberately and officially for thirteen years.
I really do think now that I’m going to pass these exams. Back in November I wasn’t sure. Now I’m charging ahead. And when I do, the dissertation ain’t sitting on the back burner. I’m a teacher, and I’m good at it. Now I need to get paid.