在这种大流行病中对我的第一个重大损失之一是我的笔记本电脑在家庭事件中的工作中失去了一个六岁的人“没有故意这样做!!!”In the grand scheme of things obviously this is not much of a loss (no my stuff wasn’t backed up, yes I know, etc), but since every single email from my university and department has been about how I can Keep Teaching Online, well it has been hard. I don’t have money for an iPad. In a touching and bizarre show of faith and charity some of my students tried to figure out how to legally gift me one. Fortunately before we were put on lockdown I was given two third gen iPads, and it is on these that I fight through technology whose system requirements I don’t meet. It’s a headache. Or it would be if I could feel anything over the near constant anxiety in my chest and throat and mouth (am I having trouble breathing??).
I say all that to say this will not be my best post. And I’m not living my best life. And I have more than the normal number of complaints but I no longer get the energy to share them.
What brings me here though is a compromise between fire and fatigue. I am mad. I am on fire with rage at my own department but I also don’t feel like I can do anything about it so this post is to ease my guilt a bit. Or maybe it’s a plea for help. Who needs labels when the world is ending.
If we lose a member of our community to illness due to lack of funds, lack of resources, or lack of connection, who cares if we successfully zoomed our lectures??
I’ve heard it said that we have an obligation to our students to provide them what they paid for, but what about our moral obligations to each other? If I’m having breakdowns because I have to navigate care givers whose exposure I can’t control, whose availability I can’t rely on, and I get a mass mailing with a thousand links about administering exams, all I can think is my workplace doesn’t care if I survive this.
Everyone make connections; reach out to others and let’s remember those who didn’t. I will no longer be intimidated by mathematicians who failed this massive test in decency.
Sent from my borrowed iPad and seven layers of anxiety.