…and it seems I’m not alone.

Gallaudet right now is a de facto war zone. I can see it in my students’ eyes, regardless of their position or non-position on the protest. When I teach, they slump in their chairs and are barely able to articulate themselves. A month ago these same students were energetic and kept me on my toes; I rushed every morning to campus, excited to see them.

Now, I myself am overwhelmed, and I hide in my office between obligations with the door closed, alternating between obsessively refreshing blogs and letting my head sink into my hands when I try to think of something else to no avail. When I do go to my grad classes at another school, I count the minutes until someone in class inevitably wants me to explain what’s going on. I can’t even get two hours off Kendall Green without being turned into a spokesperson for something someone heard on the news.

I see fatigue in my husband’s eyes when we first wake in the morning, instead of saying “Good morning,” asking each other, “Any news? Updates?” And when we fall asleep, in lieu of “Sweet dreams,” saying “Let’s hope nothing too crazy happens overnight.”

I see battle scars in my colleagues’ faces as we pass each other in the halls, suddenly imparting significant meaning to the phrase, “How you doing?” E-mails are sent in a flurry between faculty members, some suggesting techniques for teaching in troubled times, some calling for people to take a stand, some writing peace-seeking missives, and some writing to remind each other that while we should take care of ourselves, the students always, always come first.

Let’s try to make this into an educational experience. Incorporate what’s going on into our class discussions. Let’s try and be a bit flexible while still asking them to take responsibility. Let’s make sure they’re okay. Let’s just get through today, even though we don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. For God’s sake, let’s just try and get them –and us– all through this… somehow.

I see it when I gather with a few concerned faculty, some for, some against, and some declining to disclose their position to try and formulate ideas for recovering from this turmoil. Long, drawn-out sighs and shaking heads are common-place. Some of my colleagues disagree with me, and some don’t. Some, I don’t really know what they’re thinking. But we have something in common: we want this to be over.

I want to teach. I want to meet students, to get to know my brand-new colleagues, to get excited about grad school. I want to roll up in my sleeves, get involved in my community, addressing and studying audism, racism, sexism, and all those other things that come from having a superiority complex that’s been too long denied. But I can’t right now because nobody’s doing anything to end the protest in a way that we can all live with.

I want to get up in the morning and ask my husband what he’s got cooking over at MSSD. I want to come home, kick off my shoes, eat dinner with my daughter and ask how her day went, and, more than anything, to be able to actually pay attention to her neverending story about five little pumpkins. But I can’t right now because the protest has its claws in my brain and won’t let go.

I want to stop saying in my prayers, “Please, please, somebody, DO something.”

But I am also saddened when I see one person demand to know another’s position, saying, “You’re either with us or against us.” And I see that happening on both/all sides.

I am saddened when I meet somebody spouting vituperative at the protesters, screaming, “You’re all stupid! JK is our president! She is qualified!” And then not being able to tell me just why Dr. Fernandes should stay even when her selection has polarized the community so violently.

Conversely, I grieve when a student tells me he is upset because his mother was upset, not proud, that he was arrested. I ask him if he explained to his mother why he was arrested. He can’t tell me, saying instead that it doesn’t matter why.

I dream of a place where people are willing to answer questions, to discuss, to understand. I dream of a place where people who disagree can still continue a conversation without being shut off.

I dream of a place where critical staff members like security guards and medical personnel without exception, sign and are not afraid of the people they are hired to protect. I dream of a place where grievances are quickly aired, not ignored to the point they explode.

I dream of a place where students are joined by faculty, staff, and administration in a joint effort to simultaneously learn and self-empower. I dream of a place where people can truly grow.

I dream and I dream.

But then this morning before I started writing this blog, I found out about DPS and PPD personnel steamrolling — oops, I mean bulldozing — over students just as they awoke. And then the PR office responds with a statement. According to them, because students were blocking the bulldozer, one them suffered a cut on his toe. Oh.

In a fantasy, I write superwords. Superwords in a superblog that become this supermissive that convinces the powers that be to do something to stop this craziness.

But in reality, I am only one person out of many losing sleep and one person in a sea of opinions. And we all want our lives back.

Somebody pinch me. I don’t want to be here anymore.

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