Today is my last day of classes. I always get full of regrets on the last day. What didn’t we cover? What could I have done better? What did we spend too much time on? Not enough? I worry that I barely know my students. I feel like they might feel slighted. That I didn’t pay enough attention to them or their work. I didn’t pay enough attention to their work. Because their work is…theirs. Their problem. I can’t pounce on it. I feel nervous about doing so, that I’m not entitled. I worry that I didn’t well-represent the Loft. That I didn’t please them.
Teaching fulfills my need to please. At least it’s in a way that provides me an income.
Next week, it’s back to being a Mom. Matilda and I will go to the beach. If it stops raining. If it doesn’t, we’ll watch movies in the basement while I try to clean up down there. Our basement makes the one in The Silence of the Lambs look like a Victorian parlor.
Next week, it’s back to query letters. And working on my new draft. Seeing how I can make up fake people when I get a bit of time.
Next week Adrian goes to Singapore for 21 days. I will have to mow the lawn. I will have to sleep with Matilda. I will have to cook. I will not be able to kiss his freckly upper lip.
Next week, I can read all the books that came for me this week at the library.
I feel bereft and rich, simultaneously.