Regrets? I've had a few

For most people, the beginning of a new year is the time when they take stock of their lives. The yearly cycle of a grad student/fake professor, however, always begins anew with the start of a fall semester. This is season when the leaves start to change, the morning air is crisp and cold, and I begin to wonder if perhaps I should have done some things differently.

For instance, maybe we shouldn't have had our two oldest children one day a part at the beginning of September. Each year their birthdays come around the same time that tuition is due. Hey, I love my kids, but graduate school doesn't pay for itself. Fortunately this year we have an abundance of excess items that we've pulled out of storage. We'll say 'happy birthday' to Meg with an old clock radio, while Jake can look forward to unwrapping his winter coat from two years ago.

I'm also starting to question whether I can handle the day-to-day performance pressure of being a university professor. At Hawaii each class had only forty students. Here I stand up at the lectern and see 150 sets of eyes boring into me. The pressure doesn't let up after lectures either. I have to face the tough questions like, "Uh...can I have a syllabus?" Geesh. Just because I've been studying this for ten years doesn't mean I know every single thing about the entire history of forever.

And then of course I say things I probably shouldn't. Last class I moved the deadline of a paper back to give the students more time to complete it. I explained it was a shameless attempt to get them to like me, but was also necessary so that their papers stayed separate from the other section's assignments. My explanation led to the following exchange:

Student: You're right, this DOES make me like you more!
Me: Really? I still like you about the same.

There go the teaching evaluations.

Even my eating habits probably need re-evaluation. Last night after dinner I was looking for something to get the non-chocolate taste out of my mouth, but came up empty. After searching through pantry and cupboards, I finally found a bag of leftover cinnamon bears that had been in the back of the fridge for two weeks. At least it was sugar.

My mouth still tastes like freezer burn.