I’ve spent my days off between 2014 Spring semester and the upcoming (Monday) accelerated summer session letting my mind go untaxed. Untaxed to the best of my ability. That’s saying something since I’ve been in a state of free-floating and fluctuating anxiety recently.
Best part of my time off was a day at the beach with the younger kids. Next best part was rearranging some orchard trees and developing a planting plan for my crazy summer schedule.
Worst part was something that I’m not getting settled with my college’s payroll department. Waiting, waiting.
It’s another one of those “adjuncts will do it for free” stories. Maybe I’ll talk about it later.
Another worst part is imperious treatment at the hand of someone who ought to know better and does but doesn’t give a shit. I can play resistant back. I can accelerate to passive aggressive if needed. But ugh. Just ugh. (and no it’s not the ex)
I think I may look for ways to spend the rest of my life gardening/farming, continuing to teach (currently where I am, open to future possibilities), writing, and becoming far more activist.
You might say, isn’t that what she’s doing?
Well, yeah, but I have more peace about this now.
I’ve let go of the desperation to acquire a full time job, let alone tenure track. I’ve discovered that too many fellow adjuncts who have taken on year-long temporary, full time jobs (yes, that’s still contingent labor, it’s the pinnacle of contingent labor) have been let go recently and grad students have been hired to take their classes.
This is horrible on so many levels and exploitive beyond what my fevered brain could even conjure up. I’ll have to enlarge on this later. It’s important.
And I’ve seen too many colleagues not achieve tenure for dubious reasons.
And too many inside hires that too many of us put ourselves out for and are disappointed time and again.
I’m too old for this shit.
I am going to find a different way.
So. Back to the current dream.
I have to expand on the activism. And I have to get serious about the writing.
I’m not saying where I’m going to do all of this because I don’t know. I do know I’m here now. And I’m doing it.
The farm, well, the farm and the land will lead me where I need to go. That I’m certain of. There are already some tentative plans in the works if the high desert doesn’t relinquish its hold on me.
If those plans come to fruition I’ll be writing about them.
P.S. Someone has told me I’m basically damaged goods as an archaeologist because of my heart. Someone else has told me that I can still work, don’t worry, be happy, be safe. My cardiologist thinks they’re (we’re) all nuts. So. That. I’m not sure where that will work in to my downscaled, but hopefully functional, life plan.