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And Again

Workshop went well, as these things usually do. One of the things I don't enjoy about teaching High School students is how much I have to pay attention to the boring books and films that they are forced to endure at school. If it's hard for me to show any vague interest in the books that are being taught, you can imagine the dull sensation that the kids have. Running the workshop is different, though. I get to talk about the work I like. I get to talk about the writers I like. I get to talk even about the stories I think are failures, and why I reckon they are--teaching from pieces that don't succeed is a nice change from teaching from pieces that do so. It's interesting to watch a classroom full of kids start talking about why something didn't work, why they hated it, and so forth.

In literature, it seems to me that we sometimes insist that the only way to talk about work is to walk about it as a success, and not a failure.

Anyhow, like I said, it went well. The only real hassle were the long hours spent in traffic. I'd do strange things in that traffic. Random acts of kindness followed by random acts of cruelty. Maybe it's how people in that peak hour crawl usually act. Of course, I got taught a lesson right towards the end, when I left a guy pull in front of me. He was in a beat up old station wagon, but I didn't think much of that. Just slow down. Just let him drift into the lane. Just watch as he, in the middle of peak hour traffic, with lanes on either side of me packed tightly, put on his hazard lights and stumbled to a stop.

I sat there for a while, in the heat, waiting for a random moment of kindness that would allow me to escape.

(crossposted)