Tassle time

Five classes
Three copies of the Banner gradesheet
Two copies of my gradebook
A copy of my roll
Three copies of the syllabus, all tests, and quizzes.

Granted, it takes a lot of paper, a lot of stapling, and a lot of double-checking, but eventually all the semester's hard work, all the grading, the emails, the endless questions, the sleepy students, the long days and short nights, are stuffed into one manila envelope and triumphantly carried across campus to the departmental office.

And then there you are. Your desk is clean. The hallways are oddly devoid of laughing, yelling, texting students, and although you know you have several research projects waiting for you, for now, you have nothing left to do. You go through the stack of papers that has collected on the edge of your desk over the past few months. You clean out your coffee mug, which is about a weekend away from playing host to a colony of penicillin, and then you decide to venture outside. With no apparent purpose, other than to feel the sun on your arms, and see who else is outside, walking off the final grades stress.

Suddenly you notice that the crape myrtles have sprouted leaves. Big, deep green leaves. But you don't remember seeing them in bloom, even though you walk by them every day. You notice the grass is no longer yellow and stubbly, but luscious and green, and bicycle racks have appeared out of nowhere by every building. The bubble that's surrounded you for the past four months is gone, and you're finally part of reality again.

Once again, the semester has flown by, and now that it's over, time appears to catch up with you and stand still at the same time. There are phone calls to be made. Emails to write. Meetings to schedule. A commencement to get ready for. But for now, all you want to do is soak up the sun, and let time pass you by for a change.