One thing I miss, now that I’m teaching in a college, is having my own classroom. A room of my own, where I could hang up my Frank N. Furter poster inside the closet where the kids couldn’t see it, and where I could keep diet cokes stashed in a desk drawer. A room where I could display student work in spite of the political incorrectness of ‘honor.’ A room where I could take off my shoes and work in my socks. Um, not that I did any of those things before. Oh all right, I did them all. And other things, too, that I’m not telling you about because you might laugh at me. What’s that you say? Too late? Wahhhhhhh. . . . Because of that I’m for SURE not telling you about the rubber chicken, the lava lamp, or the disembodied hand with the posable fingers.

On Mondays and Wednesdays I’m in the room directly opposite the vending room. This is both good and bad. It’s good because I’m really close to the candy bars and diet cokes. It’s bad because I’m really close to the candy bars and diet cokes. It’s also really loud, but that doesn’t bother me. I thrive in chaos. On Tuesdays and Thursdays I got the room of my dreams, the room I requested, the room that I really really love because it’s just a lovable room. I was ecstatic when I saw the schedule and realized I’d gotten my room. This morning, a full ten minutes before my class was over, more students started coming in. I asked them to please wait out in the hall as my class still had time and we were busy. Five minutes late an absolutely GINORMOUS woman came running (yes, running) into the room. “Your clock is WRONG!” she yelled, and then she told us all to leave immediately as it was time for HER class to have the room.

How unprofessional. I almost peed my pants from shock.

We all ran out of there like some kind of pursued animals. Yes, “we,” because I ran with the rest of them. Ran like a cartoon cat with a broom to my butt.

Even at my age, I still quiver inside when I encounter angry authority figures. Even though I myself am an authority figure there, I am (and was) easily cowed. We all stood out in the hall, a safe distance from the door, and I said, as casually as I could manage, “see you on Thursday, folks.”

So far tonight I’ve had eight emails from students asking what in the hell happened in there. My reply? I have no idea what happened. But next time, I’ll bring my egg timer and when it dings, we’ll all grab our things and run. And hope we don’t knock anybody waiting out the hallway down. It would take all sixteen of us to move that huge woman.

What a voice. I hope she didn’t wake any of you from your naps when she yelled at me.

It’s still pouring down rain here. Dark and gloomy and getting colder.

I don’t like really cold weather, but when it’s January, sixty degrees is just wrong.

My poor apple tree is so confused it put out buds.

We’re having a grammar quiz tomorrow. One of the sentences is: “Burping loudly in a church setting is considered uncouth by many people, and is widely considered to be the main reason Brad broke up with Jennifer.”

I love writing tests.

Grading them: not so fun.

Hub is teaching at the college tonight. I’ve got the house to myself for another two hours. I’m bored. Come on over and talk to me, would you please?

Does anybody else think that a city bus service that takes students out to the campus should really stay open one more hour so they can bring the students BACK from campus? Too bad all the people who know how to run the universe are busy blogging. . . . .

Know something? I really like all you people. I mean, I really, really like all* you people. Where I invited you to visit me in that paragraph up there? I meant it.

*except you mean ones.

Be sure you go over the Greg’s site and comment. He’s a wonderful person and he’s raising funds for a good cause.

Most* bloggers, with all our diversities and quirks and opinions and differences and similarities, are really great people. In spite of, and because of, all of the above.

*except you mean ones.

I think many of us have found a niche, and honest friendships, by blogging.

Sentiment over.

How about those people who rush like bulldozers into the elevator before the people inside can get out? There are people in my building who don’t even wait for the doors to fully open; one person-sized crack and the mad rush begins. The people already inside are mashed against the back wall and can’t get out. Sheesh, it’s not like any of us is racing for gold. Stand back, let the door open, wait for the people inside to walk out, and THEN go inside the elevator. It’s not rocket science, you know. Unless you are lucky enough to be inside Willy Wonka’s elevator, in which case I think rocket science DID have something to do with it.

Good thing Willy Wonka was on our side.

I wish he’d run for President. I’d vote for him.

Willy Wonka, looking like Johnny Depp or Gene Wilder, in the Oval Office running the country.

I think I could draw a deep breath of contentment at that picture.

President Wonka: The United States has discovered how to make World Peace!

Evil Dictator (picking his nose): Your nation has a bad habit of continual interference! It’s a BAD HABIT!

President Wonka: I know a worse one.

Yes, I think it would work.

President Wonka. I like it.