Flatline

It could have been Marathon Monday +1 or Friday afternoon before spring break, based on the Engagement Factor (# students -(# absentees * number of in-class blank stares), but it was only the last Thursday in March (is Eve of April Fool’s Day Eve a mandatory party night?)  Something–another course’s exam?–cast a wind shadow across this morning’s Real Estate Law, killing all forward motion and leaving us becalmed and adrift, save for determined paddling by a few able souls.  It was brutal.  It was so brutal I sense the specter of Cold Caller, the Avenger of Apathy, the Scourge of Slackerism, the Destroyer of Distraction, lurking in the shadows, gathering his roster, yellow highlighter, and bony finger of accusation:  “You!  What’s the issue in this case, and why did the court grant the defendant’s motion for summary judgment?”