june 18, 2003.

A sample of the bitter imaginary dialogue going on in my head:

Marking Program: Use me to create easy, flexible mark book programs that respond easily to your changing needs as an educator! Throw the calculator away, because I make your job simple and fast!

Teachers: Hooray! No more fiddling with percentages and weighting! We can have instant mark updates! Parents will be thrilled!

Sodom Heights District School Board: Ugh! Using fractions to represent marks is, like, SO 1984. How can you nurture the individual's spirit if you actually count assignments they don't do as zeros? Their mark should reflect the most recent and most consistent level. Oh yeah, you can't use number grades - just one of four levels.

Teachers: How do we get a final mark?

SHDSB: Why, it's easy! Remember to fit one assignment into as many provincially mandated categories of assessment as you possibly can. Keep in mind that these categories are vague descriptions that could apply to any assignment at any level. Do your best, and have a good excuse if someone demands a reason why it's in one category and not the other. Hey, it's not our fault you can't figure out our assessment scales! We're the Board - you're just a grunt.

Okay. So now they're in categories. Then you spread out all those semester marks and eyeball it! Once they're all there in front of you, you use your calculator to assign a final grade.

[Sound of teachers' heads exploding as workload quadruples.]

Ugh. I've had the same pounding headache for two fucking days. It's a headache that laughs at aspirin, that survives in the face of litres of water, that makes marking exams an absolute misery. Luckily I have the day off to mark, because the thought of being in that window-less, air-less prison of a school makes my head throb even harder. I had the day off yesterday as well, and I accomplished bupkiss because of the headache. (Also: I'm lazy.) Now my back is against the wall and my head is pound-pound-pounding merrily. I suppose this is just another symptom of my bout with PLS: Pregnant Lady Syndrome.

The school year was pronounced dead at 9:15 p.m. (that's when I finished the last of my exams). Ding dong! The year is dead! Which year, dear? The wicked year!

I've been marking through a pounding headache for approximately 12 hours (though not 12 hours straight; I'm too much of a slacker for that). Dirk called, free movie passes in hand for the movie where 100 Kate Hudsons fight a self-flagellating Jesuit played by Keanu Reeves. You know: The Black Robe Matrix & Emma.

"Your cholesterol level is lethally high, Homer, but I'm more concerned about your gravy level."
"Now, wait a second! You doctors have been telling us to drink eight glasses of gravy a day!"
"You're a little confused!"
"Oh, confused, would we?"

As you can tell, I'm a bit giddy. I hated having to tell him no, but finishing the year was more important that getting up at 4 a.m. to mark the last of these foolscap nightmares. (Ophelia suggested that I write 'learn to flip burgers,' on each of the papers.) Now it's all over but the organizing. The school needs to be tidied and so does my home office. Sweeet.

3 years ago today: Me Jane