"He eventually drowned and that ended his life."

The above gem from a response paper on "Not Waving But Drowning" by Stevie Smith.

So I've been teaching General Literature for a month now. It is, of course, a continual rollercoaster between wildly enjoyable and deeply depressing, but in general things are going quite well, and I am actually pretty good at this, I think, except:

1. I cannot manipulate chalk properly. The first day of class I got chalk dust all over the front of my black shirt; I constantly have chalk on my thigh, hands, chest, or ass. Not only that, but I'm averaging about two pieces of broken chalk per 50-minute class session. I prefer when it breaks as I'm writing, rather than when I drop it on the floor.

2. I tend to underestimate my students. Not always, but sometimes they get the point of things far faster than I want them to, and I'm sort of left without anything to say. "Uh...okay. Yeah. Gregor turned into a bug because he's always led a bug-like life. My lesson plan is complete and we only have 40 minutes left." My new technique for dealing with this? Extensive in-class writing. That'll learn 'em.

3. On the flip side, I frequently can't stop laughing at things they say. Usually I'm able to control it in class, but one of the best things about being a teacher is that you get to report all these things to others, particularly fellow instructors who can usually one-up you. A gem from Titus: "Was Lavinia that bangin', that everybody was fighting over her?" Yeah, Lavinia was totally a bangin' bitch, and where do we see that in the text?