one if by land

or, two colleagues who don't seem to give a fuck.  Am I wrong, then, to be panicked, and nigh on obsessed with their judgments of me, if they themselves don't give a fuck.  One who has been negligent in getting student papers back since May.  May of LAST FUCKING YEAR.  The other, a notorious non-driver who, as they say, cadged a lift of me this evening (I was hoping for gossip.  It doesn't count as being used if you volunteer), who decided, vis-a-vis the search committee for which we are both members, that he would defer judgment to still another colleague.  Wait, really? Can I discharge my sense of responsibility and accountability, and also say "fuck it, I'm busy"?  I'd love to, bitch, so just say the word.  I'd also love never to give student papers back with comments, but just look them sternly in the eye and say, "B-, beyotch.".  Perhaps just an odd fantasy of mine.  A friend re-reading Les Liaisons dangerueses, and paying the most charming of compliments, that I remind her of Valmont. In all his fucked up glory, emphatic and vulnerable.  An ego boost, in the midst of an ego-examining moment.  Another friend, nigh on 33, no job, living at home, no idea of past or future, but very nicely dressed and sporting a nice handbag.  There but for the grace of god, on the one hand.  Get your fucking act together and choose something, anything, to do, to be, on the other.  I'm a sympathetic soul. Or perhaps a conflict-avoiding chicken shit, non-sympathetic highly judgmental soul. Take your pick.  Boy done good; girl done better; take it from here, Billy.  I don't think I deserve it any more, but at least, at Lizst, I've fucking worked for it.