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2011-03-07 - 11:14 p.m.

I am deeply, deeply tired of grading essays. Deeply tired of it. I know it's a part of the job, and I know they get a lot out of it (because they tell me they do), but I don't want to do it any more. I read an interview with a Johns Hopkins novelist who said he was most looking forward to never having to edit another short story. I recently heard a joke about a professor who had a stack of papers next to his hospital bed. Get better soon, a well-wisher said. Thanks, the professor said, pointing at the papers, but if I don't, at least I won't have to grade those. There are tricks, but I can't get myself not to do the thing that makes it hard, which is to spend time on each one. I mark the shit out of them, is what I do. A forest of blue-ink marks on these things.

It's almost spring. We're gardening this year. My buddy has opened up his back yard. Last weekend, we dumped compost on it and used a motorized tiller to work it in. Planting's in two weeks. I'm looking forward to calluses and cucumbers.

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