Gutted?

She keeps using the word gutted when she refers to poetry.

I don’t want to be gutted but I have to face down the queasy feeling that form evokes.

There are lessons in there that will make me accurate and efficient

BUT

after YEARS for kicking Wu’s butt through Canvas

my first assignment (which was complete last night)

is LATE

Midnight means different things to different people, also noon.

It was not HUBRIS it was a 4 am wake-up call that I needed to be able to depart for school with my Hubbin.

I can’t physically carry a notebook computer across those vast seas of cobblestone

or I might have caught this at 8 am when I sat in Hubbins empty office rewriting my “epic opus”

for a third time.

I had the effing printed pages in my hot little hands. I could have scanned them at the library but I missed the memo!

I adore the instructor who claims she is NOT a hardass and it’ll be fine

but the machinery of Canvas still marked my FIRST submission LATE.

Gutted? After all we’ve been through, I mean I’ve guided Wu through Running Start and almost to his 2-year degree and Hubbin through a Master’s degree, Canvas has to be like that. Traitor!

Other than that I really belong there. Aside from the murderous squirrels (one of my classmates has gone missing after an “incident” and paramedics were under attack from the little rodent creeps) and the general hazard of freshmen mistaking my gray hair as an indicator that I am friendly, helpful, and know stuff, most of this Rodney Dangerfield reboot seems to be working for me.

https://youtu.be/2Yec9xYJxpE