Is this my life?/This is my life

I send out email blasts to my students that are original or come from the school. I love tidbits about writers or poets, comics that speak to our topics, or artwork that strikes my fancy. On this last Thursday, after a night of little sleep and a very long week and at the behest of one of my schools, I sent out an email to my humanities students (dear self, it is not humanitites as your typing insists upon, although this typo does wonderfully highlight the predicament I am about to elaborate upon). 

The message was innocuous in and of itself, simply a message that my students had been selected to participate in a diagnostic survey. Easy enough. All I had to do was copy the message (ctrl c, self) and paste it into a Word document (ctrl v, edit)--something in the new Blackboard prevents me from directly copy/paste into any area--and then into Blackboard announcements. Fantastic. Copy, paste, set dates, click "Send email" message.

And then...oh shit.  I felt myself melt into a puddle.

Note: it is always a good idea to check work before hitting the stupid send button. Secondary note: button is only stupid relative to errors made by self.

So, the work unchecked, I sent along without my usual signature of "Best, Anna."  Granted, I was crossed eyed and bleary from exhaustion, but that is truly no excuse for a veteran writer.

Instead, I failed to change the original messaging from the template message I received to this signature, so all of my students received a message signed "Professor X."

That's right, kids. I can now officially open my own school for mutants, for I am officially, and in print, Professor X.

I'm going to continue to sit in the corner here, sip my beer, and consider the (only in my head) amazing implications of this.



**I did send out a revised version seconds after this, but still...