Lecturer Livelihood

So, there you were in that meeting, the one with all your nemeses, real and imagined. It was time. You stood up to say your piece. Your voice quavered but you persevered. Your words had not been rehearsed and they were not the best ones for what you had to express. You couldn't remember whether to say "non-traditional," "adjunct," "non-tenure eligible," or "career track" to describe your job title to the ones who were entitled, but you spoke anyway. You told them about the years given, the service done, the programs directed, the courses designed, the publications, the utter absence of hope that you would ever be promoted, have job protection, or have secure voting rights. You did not tell them about the insults delivered over the years, the belittling at the hands of the ones who blocked your path at every turn. Later, when it was over, you wouldn't remember what it was you had said, exactly. And you were not sure if anyone had really heard what you said, but you did what you had to do. You couldn't really think after that, much less grade papers. You walked the Friday hallway alone. Your thoughts wouldn't come because your heart was broken, again. Why has this been so hard, this getting and making a life?