The Storm Again
Even after attending my second class as a teaching assistant (T.A.), I'm still not sure what being a T.A. is going to entail. I suspect once I've had a chance to talk in depth with the instructor, rather than just chat for the few minutes before and after class, I'll be helping out with the minor computer related tasks and offering the usual tips and tricks one needs when geeking out on the web. By absolutely no means am I some kind of techie or web wizard (some of the incoming freshman already know more about that sort of thing than I ever will). Still, I think that I have more tech. and geek savvy than the other teaching assistant and instructor put together. (When I first met with the instructor in her fourth floor office to check-in with her the week before class, she showed me the syllabus and indicated that she was experiencing some trouble removing the hyperlink from her Microsoft word document. She told me, "I'll put a copy [of the syllabus] in your mailbox after I fix this email address so it's not blue. I'm hoping the photocopier will make it black again." Super simple stuff. I kept my mouth shut at the time figuring that silence was golden and that I needed to hear more about my job than explain the mysteries of hyperlinks.)
As for the graduate courses, I must admit to feeling more than my share of trepidation about the amount of work required and the intellectual capacity that I will need to have to immerse myself fully and successfully as a grad. student. I spent this whole afternoon reading an academic article about the history of rhetoric, something I need to do in order to write a paper about it for next week. I have to say the article was about as clear as mud. (If I had to summarize it in a few words, the article was essentially saying: Yep, rhetoric sure causes a heap o' fuss. Even way back a'fore anyone can re-collect, some folks has liked it, and some don't. No use trying to stop all this feudin' and a fussin', so best-of-luck to the poor fool who has to pick a side. Which, by the way, that fool is you!)
The stress of still not being completely moved dovetailed rather nicely with the stress of school and has made me (look out: understatement ahead!) a little frazzled. I don't have a phone; I haven't changed my address yet; and I've not even told some of my long time friends exactly where the hell I am. (Metaphorically speaking, I guess I don't know where the hell I am either.) This Friday, I'll be back in my old town packing the smaller things I left behind and tying up the financial loose ends. Those older and wiser than myself have suggested that I tell myself that everything will work out, and, they say, I should keep telling myself that. Advice I interpret as: Fake it 'till you make it. I don't know if I buy this argument, but right now, it's the only real advice about my situation I've got.