The word is out. Check your mailbox by the end of the day to find out if you have a job next year. Only 5 more hours to wait.
Being a temporary faculty member is cool most of the time. My colleagues, tenure-track or not, all treat me well, and they are good people to have on hand. With years of experience, t hey have an answer for every question I can pose. But in March and April, when the University begins to look at temporary teaching lines and gets out the budgetary ax, it's not so cool.
At my age, you'd think I could get over it. I have had three really steady, long-term jobs in my life, and I knew this would not be one of them. Given my experience and ability, I would earn more pay almost anywhere else, except that I wouldn't have the perks: large chunks of time for myself, my writing, and my family. But every year, I get that "poor me" sense of insecurity, and I start reading the help wanted ads again. Hunh - like I could pick a job out of the help wanted ads!
And sometimes I have this great urge to apply for a morning shift at a corner convenience store, where I could stand behind a counter and observe unusual people all day. Or a 6 a.m. job delivering the local newspaper. Or waitress in a diner. I must be getting senile.
So I buck up (after long conversations with my daughter/therapist) and say "Look here. There is no point in worrying about something that you cannot control. You'll find out eventually, and then deal with it." And now that day is here. Can I wait? Do I have to look? Will I be here next year?
Tune in for the next episode.
Mrs. B
Being a temporary faculty member is cool most of the time. My colleagues, tenure-track or not, all treat me well, and they are good people to have on hand. With years of experience, t hey have an answer for every question I can pose. But in March and April, when the University begins to look at temporary teaching lines and gets out the budgetary ax, it's not so cool.
At my age, you'd think I could get over it. I have had three really steady, long-term jobs in my life, and I knew this would not be one of them. Given my experience and ability, I would earn more pay almost anywhere else, except that I wouldn't have the perks: large chunks of time for myself, my writing, and my family. But every year, I get that "poor me" sense of insecurity, and I start reading the help wanted ads again. Hunh - like I could pick a job out of the help wanted ads!
And sometimes I have this great urge to apply for a morning shift at a corner convenience store, where I could stand behind a counter and observe unusual people all day. Or a 6 a.m. job delivering the local newspaper. Or waitress in a diner. I must be getting senile.
So I buck up (after long conversations with my daughter/therapist) and say "Look here. There is no point in worrying about something that you cannot control. You'll find out eventually, and then deal with it." And now that day is here. Can I wait? Do I have to look? Will I be here next year?
Tune in for the next episode.
Mrs. B
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