And lo, the ugrads did turn in to me their portfolia. And the angel of the grading came to me saying, "Dude, only fifteen? Holy shit, I could do that in my fucking sleep." For the angel of the grading is an angel most obscene and perhaps bitter over being denied tenure in the classrooms of the lord.
Did I mention that I grew up with the King James Version? I don't need to mention that I've collected portfolios, do I? And that I'm pumped to read them? I love teaching. I love students. I love poetry. It is a perfect storm of delights that await. In a sense. There are heartbreaks, yes. But this was a good group who got engaged with their work and with each other. My only complaint: We had sixteen weeks.
Now I'm just babbling. Go pick up your King James. And enjoy the apocalypse.
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