Sphinx

Our regular comfort rewatching of Buffy the Vampire Slayer is ar a fairly early stage, but there have been times over the last week and a half, with another bout of COVID now turning into a lingering cold colliding with the second week of teaching and the final stages of putting together a project funding application, when I have been powerfully reminded of Buffy’s Mom’s response to discovering her secret. Specifically, because the dynamic rather echoes my wife’s response to my behaviour whenever I’m illl. “Have you tried not being a Vampire Slayer?” Sorry, I am always going to be an academic. “Well, I just don’t accept that.”

Obviously I am not unique or irreplaceable, the only one in all the world with the power to write meandering articles about Thucydidean reception. If you cut me down, scores of young academics would rise up to fight one another to take my place, and would probably do a much better job. But the reason – discounting egomania – why academics in general (in other words, me) are terrible at being ill and even more terrible at taking the time to recover properly is that, in the short term, stuff really isn’t going to get done if we’re not there to do it.

That is to say: lots of people could do an equally good job at delivering a module on Greek Political Thought, but they’re not going to be able to deliver my Tuesday seminar at two days’ notice, and certainly it’s not something that another member of the department could be expected to take on – so, if I don’t do it, the seminar has to be rescheduled (apparently more of less impossible these days, even or especially with timetabling software) or simply cancelled. Lots of people could write a persuasive research funding proposal, but they’re not going to be able to step in and take over this specific funding proposal a week before the submission deadline; if I don’t spend several days arguing with finance people, it just doesn’t happen. (Of course, from the perspective of the finance people, this may be a desirable outcome).

Some things can fall by the wayside without any issue: plenty of meetings will be fine without my lugubrious presence and occasional long-winded interventions, plenty of emails will effectively resolve themselves if ignored. My approach to being ill is to do the stuff that has to be done and really can’t be done by anyone else, whereas as far as my wife is concerned, this is a meaningless category and just a symptom of control freakery and/or workaholism.

Obviously the most significant impact of all this is the damage to my sense of humour. Self-involved much?