Render Unto Caesar

The meetings sprout like mushrooms after a heavy rain. The lecturer promotion committee, the alternative textbook committee, the teaching awards committee and others all take up the limited space in your planner, little malignant blots. You know you have to fulfill your responsibilities. You have a contract to do so. That contract doesn't care that your brain is mush and your energy a flickering flame about to go out. You drag yourself to the table to grade your papers, plan the lessons, but there is more. The house has to be rented, cleaned, and loose ends need to be tied up so that the next chapter can begin. Suck it up, brother. You're about the be launched into the big blue right after you drop your last dime into the pot that Caesar has passed into your hands for you to render unto him what feels like your last breath.