I used to be funny
This morning at school, a conversation with a colleague who reads my blog regularly.
He: Amy's engaged.
Lots of people congratulate me.
He: You gotta read Amy's blog.
Me: I'm not funny anymore.
He: You haven't been in a long time, no.
He then gave me an out, what with all the doggie troubles that we went through in January.
But really, what's my problem? Probably seasonal depression. And, paradoxically, probably contentment. I have nothing to complain about, really, and it was usually those complaints that I could turn into funnies.
In other news, I had another version of a recurring dream last night. I had accepted a job at my undergraduate institution, Clark University. I was sitting through the new faculty orientation trying to remember if I'd be able to find my way back to my dorm room, when I realized that I didn't really want this job. I didn't want to be one of the only rhet/comp people on campus. I wanted my old job back. Badly. And so I asked one of my colleagues, who just happened to work at both schools, what she could do to get me my job back. She gave me a wink and assured me she'd take care of it.
I was a pretty smart undergraduate, but I remember next to nothing about what I learned. I was so clueless about the world, about living. I look at my students now and I really don't think they're as clueless as I was. I wish I'd had a personal essay class then. I wish I'd saved more of my writing. Maybe that's why I keep having these dreams about teaching there.
See? None of this is funny.