Remember my afternoon in the ER six weeks ago?
Remember how I’d mentioned that my physician wanted me to take a follow up exam?
That happened Friday. Six weeks later. I should complain, but I won’t because I know that I’m not the only person on earth with problems. I’m fortunate in the sense that I have insurance and the ability to get to my physician with relative ease. In fact, I could probably name a hundred reasons why I shouldn’t complain because when all is said and done, I’m a pretty blessed guy.
So I won’t complain.
Still . . . I was put off by the fact that the earliest they could accommodate me was six weeks. There – I’ve complained. In truth, everything went really well, and the only issue now is waiting for the results to come back. Everyone was nice, but it made me wonder if, after the ER fiasco, they put a note in my file to “rush this guy out fast.” Well, even if they did, I’ll compliment everyone, as it was a pretty good exam overall.
August to a teacher (of any level) is akin to the television show “60 Minutes” to a student: It’s a sign that the end of one’s rest is near and that work is just around the corner. Once you hear that “Tic, tic, tic” of the “60 Minutes” stopwatch, you know that the weekend has concluded and Monday will be here faster than you want. Such is August.
Already the meetings are being scheduled, and the panicked e-mails from equally panicked students are beginning to flood my digital mailbox. The whole thing is fascinating in a way, because despite having had the entire summer season to address certain issues, it always falls to the last few days of August to motivate people to get up and off of their rears.
Fortunately for me, I’m rather limited in my meeting work – unlike many of my colleagues, I am not on multiple committees, and the few to which I owe some sort of service don’t have regular meeting schedules. I’ve got only one pre-term meeting, and the beauty of it is that it’ll last probably thirty minutes. Unfortunately, it’ll take me an hour to get there – a major pet peeve of mine is a meeting that lasts less that the time it took me to reach it* – but I have so much other work to do (some job related, some not), that it’s kind of a trade off. I have a reason to make a trek that I wouldn’t ordinarily make for another three weeks, and in the process, I get to run a few errands that would otherwise have to wait.
* Worst meeting ever was one called several years ago by a colleague that lasted just two minutes. That’s no lie – two frickin’ minutes. And the worst part about it was that road conditions were not that great, so what ordinarily took me an hour to do was now closer to 90 minutes – all for a meeting that lasted as long as it took me to defog my glasses. I’m still convinced that it was done on purpose, but . . . I’m moving on. So, no – if you want me there, that meeting must last at least an hour, or else I’m not coming.
Oh, well. All major classwork is finished, clothes are prepared, shoes are shined. All that’s left now is to sit . . . and wait. It’s the calm before the storm, and I don’t know whether or not I should be afraid . . .