We had a few good years.
Did we?
We were left alone. Allowed to surface. Come up from our years of obscurity. Step into daylight after years in the darkness. Step up to the podium. To be listened to! To be heard!
Isn’t that what we always what we wanted: to lecture our own modules, in our own name? To do it better than the lecturers we’d seen over the years. Than all the lecturers we’d lectured for! That we’d taught seminars for!
Coming up, breathing air after so many years of service teaching! Of seminar teaching for other people’s lectures! Of paid-by-the-hour teaching!
Our chance at last: to be in charge of a room full of students. To be guiding them, a room full of students. To be lifting them all the way up to philosophy, a room of students.
We had an audience. Students were listening, kind of. Notetaking, sort of.
And Cicero herself, listening. Cicero pacing up and down outside the lecture room, listening in.
Work in Progress 