I'm realizing that in less than a week, I'm going to stand up in front of a room full of mostly 18-year-olds and be their professor. Teach them (I hope) how to write, or at least keep them marginally entertained for the semester.

My class is the most popular, the most requested, and has such a long wait list they would offer two sections if they could.

Yikes.

I was aware of that going in, that in a school that specializes in public health and medicine and course featuring these two subjects would likely attract a crowd. My write-up isn't bad, but it's not like the guy who's featuring Borat as a character study. Seriously. We're studying Typhoid Mary. Who is actually an interesting person, and it's a sad story at the end of things. She doesn't try to buy her way out of imprisonment with Khazakstani pubic hair a la Borat, however. It would have made for quite an interesting interlude, if nothing else.

I do think it's an interesting class. Sure, if I were dealing with students with a larger public health background, I might be able to do stuff that I personally would find more interesting. But all in all, I think I've actually created a good course.

I'm still scared shitless.

I know that's normal. Who wouldn't be nervous at starting something entirely new and foreign? I've never taught, never even taken a formal writing class until now. I suppose I'll have one writing class under my belt by the time I start teaching, so I'll be one class ahead of them. This class is also with the senior science editor for Time magazine, which in my opinion should count for two or so. At least.

Today was a good day. I took a preliminary class in rock climbing at the wall in the rec center with one of my classmates. It was so fun. I had mild vertigo at the top, but I didn't barf or panic. I take my final test tomorrow (or next Thursday). I got paperwork and annoying-ness out of the way. My apartment is still a pit, and I am going to take care of that now. I'm literally drowning in paper and cat hair.

Lovely.