…and I am sitting here, tears streaming down my face, because I’ve made such a big mess of this career and I have to smile through it. I don’t want to be a happy woman! I want to be an angry woman – but oh, the power of the sanctions that would comedown upon the angry woman. Academia sees me, and they think I’m not worth the anger and they look through me and I just can’t bear being here in this rented office, not mine to place my books in lovingly, but one filled with tons of books left by people just like me. But apparently they aren’t sad.
Why am I the only sad one?
Why did the department that cancelled my contract then HIDE IT from my view? Why can’t they just pony up and pay me what I’m owed? Get me through these months so I can get a real job.
Oh, how economic stability is linked to a feeling of HUMANITY. And here I am teaching about the absurdity of borders and the travesty and tragedy and sometimes triumph of immigration, and I have THE NERVE to think that I’m work more than this warm office and health children with a roof over their head?