My job is busy.
Strike that.
My job is CRAZY busy.
And I thought I could leave for a week and go to an international conference (ICFA--the International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts, to be exact) in the middle of the semester.
I am an idiot.
Between the work I had to do to prep to leave, including setting up my classes for someone else to take over, the work I have to do on a daily basis anyway, the jetlag, the catching up with emails and admin after I got home, and the shitheap I find myself in now while I try to finish my marking as quickly as possible so my colleagues can 2nd mark and my students can get feedback asap, and finishing all the prep for a very important event I am running on Tuesday, and ignoring the PG Cert assignments that are piling up ... I am in a world of hurt.
In other news, my Milford 2015 story "Midwives" (originally titled "La Madremonte") is being published very soon in an anthology of stories about Mother Nature kicking ass and taking names.
Strike that.
My job is CRAZY busy.
And I thought I could leave for a week and go to an international conference (ICFA--the International Conference for the Fantastic in the Arts, to be exact) in the middle of the semester.
I am an idiot.
Between the work I had to do to prep to leave, including setting up my classes for someone else to take over, the work I have to do on a daily basis anyway, the jetlag, the catching up with emails and admin after I got home, and the shitheap I find myself in now while I try to finish my marking as quickly as possible so my colleagues can 2nd mark and my students can get feedback asap, and finishing all the prep for a very important event I am running on Tuesday, and ignoring the PG Cert assignments that are piling up ... I am in a world of hurt.
In other news, my Milford 2015 story "Midwives" (originally titled "La Madremonte") is being published very soon in an anthology of stories about Mother Nature kicking ass and taking names.
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