Grading Misery

I am losing my mind. I will never, ever require journals in my classes again. I spent the entire day yesterday grading my students' notebooks...deciphering illegible writing, locating the often well-hidden assigned entries, and trying to fairly evaluate the unevaluatable. (And I am only half-way done.) I've taken over the diningroom table in an effort to keep my real office clutter- free for the upcoming novel writing experiment:

Note: that's only half of the journals. That brown box? It has a 500 + page manuscript I am editing. The plastic bags hanging off the chair have the beginnings of homemade witch and cat costumes as well as a male to male HCMI cable that needs to go back to RadioShack but just can't seem to find its way there despite the fact that it cost $50, and we don't need it. Also, notice the piles on the secretary behind the table. Those are my magical mystery piles I just keep adding crap to (right now the top items are a kids' toy catalogue that has been ripped to shred, Taz's kitty brush, some important financial papers, and my rejection binder for Two Rivers. I'm waiting for the desk to break before I actually file stuff. God, I'm turning into a hoarder...