Anyone else ever find themselves grading some… *very* basic freshman biology papers — like, the kind that barely pass the rubric for "identifies major organelles"— and just feel this profound… disorientation? I’m 31, tenured-track, house in the suburbs, two cars, and I keep having these intrusive thoughts about my dad’s carpentry shop back home—the smell of sawdust, the weight of a good hammer. Is it a maladaptive coping mechanism? A delayed identity crisis? Because the satisfaction quotient for explaining mitosis versus, say, building a perfectly flush dovetail joint is alarmingly disproportionate for me right now. It's almost… anhedonic. Am I the only one who feels like they’ve completely misdiagnosed their own vocational calling?