Yesterday, while I was having coffee with my boyfriend and his mother, I happened to spy the teacher I had last winter quarter for my very first Honors class. With suppressed disdain for her rummaging through papers and sipping of coffee, I watched her from the corner of my eye. She caught it, mumbled a displeased “Hello,” to which I responded in kind.
As we left the coffee shop, I vented my frustration at the woman to my companions, enough to simply relive the anger I felt the day I received the email regarding my 14 page paper which read, “I haven’t read your essay yet, but you need to rewrite it.” My very first B followed soon after.
However, this morning, as I was willing myself to be pulled out from the warmth of bed, and scrolling through my Facebook page, I spied a post that my cousin tagged me in. It was an expression of excitement of the release of The Noisy Water Review, that is, the publication in which one will find my essay, “The Self Examined: Exploring Bergson’s Idea of Absolute Knowledge via Ben Jelloun’s novel The Sandchild.”
After bumping into my teacher yesterday, I felt a sense of poetic justice, though perhaps not int eh truest sense of the term, but rather in that there was as satisfaction that she can be as up herself as she wants to be. But at the end of the day, the essay she rejected is the one that got published.