Another week...
Last week got increasingly intense with more and more crisis interventions. I let myself take Wednesday night off to hang out with my hubby and cat and not do work.
This morning, I was getting out of the car at the gas station (the purveyor of my favorite coffee, oddly enough) and I heard someone calling me, and shouting: "Do you remember me?" I turned around, and there was one of the little boys I used to tutor. Except that he's not a little boy anymore. And he has a little mustache! He filled me in on the other kids, and I gave him my number. I'd love to get involved with that crew again...besides, they're in their mid teens, which is such a "get it together or fall competely apart" time.
The maturity level of my freshmen is so varied...I taught infant development this morning. Some of my students were discussing infancy with some maturity. One of my students was describing feeding her child. A handful of other students couldn't get passed the fact that, alas, nursing involves breasts. They spent a significant amount of time saying: "Boobs. Heheheheh. Boobs." Ahh, freshmen. Class ended early with a fire drill. I hate those fire drills. First of all, they post signs that say "We will be having a fire drill today!" Then, they ring the bell right before the end of a class. The bell itself souns like someone hitting a metal pot with a spoon. If your students are even talking, you can't hear it. The most offensive part of the fire drill is that you are instructed to LEAVE BEHIND your disabled students. A few years ago, I was on crutches when the alarm went off (foot surgery.) I had to slide down the stairs on my ass. Some of my classmates offered to carry me, but frankly, I was skeptical. The psych faculty wrote a letter to the University complaining about what happened, hoping that it would spur them to create a better emergency plan. Nope. You are supposed to take your disabled students to a designated room and leave them. All of my students are able to walk. But you better believe that there's not a chance in hell that I'm going to say: "Hey, so, it's getting kind of hot up here...I'm gonna get going!"
I had a cancellation for tonight, so I could technically head out at any time. Unfortunately, I told my husband I'd meet him on campus at 7pm. And I don't have his new cell phone number with me. And I have his keys to the apartment....D'oh.
That reminds me...I actually had a dream about the Simpsons the other night. Very odd, very odd.
I handed in a draft of an article I'm submitting...sometimes it depresses me that, even though I don't FEEL all that radical, I'm reminded that I am all the freaking time. It doesn't get to me when mainstreamers tell me that I'm radical. It DOES get to me when I go to a freaking Critical Psychology conference and I realize that I'm radical for THAT crowd. Psychology just isn't that radical...Try finding a feminist shrink, and you'll see what I mean. Anyhow...off to the library with me!
This morning, I was getting out of the car at the gas station (the purveyor of my favorite coffee, oddly enough) and I heard someone calling me, and shouting: "Do you remember me?" I turned around, and there was one of the little boys I used to tutor. Except that he's not a little boy anymore. And he has a little mustache! He filled me in on the other kids, and I gave him my number. I'd love to get involved with that crew again...besides, they're in their mid teens, which is such a "get it together or fall competely apart" time.
The maturity level of my freshmen is so varied...I taught infant development this morning. Some of my students were discussing infancy with some maturity. One of my students was describing feeding her child. A handful of other students couldn't get passed the fact that, alas, nursing involves breasts. They spent a significant amount of time saying: "Boobs. Heheheheh. Boobs." Ahh, freshmen. Class ended early with a fire drill. I hate those fire drills. First of all, they post signs that say "We will be having a fire drill today!" Then, they ring the bell right before the end of a class. The bell itself souns like someone hitting a metal pot with a spoon. If your students are even talking, you can't hear it. The most offensive part of the fire drill is that you are instructed to LEAVE BEHIND your disabled students. A few years ago, I was on crutches when the alarm went off (foot surgery.) I had to slide down the stairs on my ass. Some of my classmates offered to carry me, but frankly, I was skeptical. The psych faculty wrote a letter to the University complaining about what happened, hoping that it would spur them to create a better emergency plan. Nope. You are supposed to take your disabled students to a designated room and leave them. All of my students are able to walk. But you better believe that there's not a chance in hell that I'm going to say: "Hey, so, it's getting kind of hot up here...I'm gonna get going!"
I had a cancellation for tonight, so I could technically head out at any time. Unfortunately, I told my husband I'd meet him on campus at 7pm. And I don't have his new cell phone number with me. And I have his keys to the apartment....D'oh.
That reminds me...I actually had a dream about the Simpsons the other night. Very odd, very odd.
I handed in a draft of an article I'm submitting...sometimes it depresses me that, even though I don't FEEL all that radical, I'm reminded that I am all the freaking time. It doesn't get to me when mainstreamers tell me that I'm radical. It DOES get to me when I go to a freaking Critical Psychology conference and I realize that I'm radical for THAT crowd. Psychology just isn't that radical...Try finding a feminist shrink, and you'll see what I mean. Anyhow...off to the library with me!
posted by Wild West Intern @ 1:16 PM
1 Comments:
At 18/10/05 21:43,
a girl on albion said…
Holy shit -- their policy is to let disabled students burn??? That's really absurd, especially considering that it's probably not hard to help one or two students when you have at least 10 or 20 able bodied students on hand. In an actual fire, I'm sure that somebody would carry anyone who was on crutches, or push the wheelchair or someone who needed it.
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