As Paula observed yesterday, it's freak out time. By now, you have a collection of syllabi, each demanding an impossible load of work. Multiply by the number of classes and, well, you probably stopped smiling on Tuesday. Like a freshman told me yesterday, with a grim smile, "College just got real."
Staff suffer, too. (I'm writing this at 4am.) When I got up, I took a deep breath, bracing myself for another nonstop day. That much air felt foreign, for the bottom of my lungs hadn't expanded in awhile. Shallow breathing's a result of adrenaline, which I've been living on like it's espresso.
At the start of every fall, the road looks endless. We've barely stepped off the porch. Soon, though, after reading some chapters and working some problems, we'll reach the corner. Turn in some papers and take some tests, and we'll be hiking in the mountains. Vistas will open before us, all the way to the ocean. Deep breaths then, and long strides.
And on our trek, we've got friends. Colleagues. Yes, the writing centers, where we bounce around ideas for papers or read them and offer suggestions. Come in; sit down. Breathe.
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