Yesterday I sent this email to a friend:
"I'm on Spring Break! I couldn't be more ready for it, too. I've been desperate for a break. Yesterday, before class, I was thinking about Friday's upcoming class and how I already knew a few students weren't going to be there because they were leaving school early. I asked them in class how many were planning on not being there and, after convincing them I wasn't going to be mad but only wanted to know because I might rearrange what I was planning to do for World War II. Over half of them confessed they weren't going to be there Friday. Eight students said they would be there. EIGHT. I'm supposed to drive 45 minutes at 7:00 in the morning to teach a maximum of eight students because, let's face it, some of those won't actually show up. The other half started to demand extra credit for being there because time with my hilarious, brilliant self clearly wasn't enough incentive. So. I told them I was willing to cancel class IF they agreed to watch a documentary on WWII and complete an assignment on it (so I know they watched it) and hand it in in class Monday after break. Naturally they jumped at it. I look like the coolest prof ever AND I don't have to get up at 6:00 Friday morning AND my Spring Break starts early, too. Sometimes even I am surprised by my genius."
Well, my gloating came too soon. The universe hates me. It is mocking me. I was too happy that I canceled class today. I'm sick. I feel like my head is going to burst. And someone must have used my throat as a toothpick holder while I was sleeping. It's raw and sore and I sound like I smoked three packs a cigarettes a day for 60 years. It took all my energy to turn my computer on after I dragged my sorry self out of bed and laid on the couch for awhile.
My triumph has turned to agony. Well played, universe. Well played.