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I finally managed to finish recording the last classes that were due for this term. I had started into the week-end hoping to be able to wrap it up by Sunday evening, but after 15 hours of work for 3 recorded hours of first year introduction to literary history, I had to take a break from preparing and recording classes on Sunday at 5P.M.The ritual remained the same: I prepared the powerpoint for an hour or two, then asked my daughter if I could borrow her room, then recorded the corresponding half hour of class, uploaded it, and started all over again. I was so focussed on this task that I woke up several times in the middle of nightmares in the night from Saturday to Sunday (those nightmares where you keep running and looking for either family members or luggage, trying to keep a schedule you are bound to miss from the beginning). So I took a break and finished preparing and recording the masters' final class on digital tools this afternoon. This session on data management and good practice in data management turned out to be easier than the first year class, which I am quite thankful for. I feel pretty empty right now, and was struggling all week-end on focussing better.At first, I blamed two magpies for my lack of concentration. See: when I stand at my daughter's window for my recordings, concentration is key, and it turned out on Saturday morning that first the sun, and then two magpies, were clearly trying to make me lose concentration. The sun was first blinding me and prevented me to read the content of my monitor properly - that didn't last that long, though. But then came a magpie, flying around, sitting on the wire, then on the stone wall, then hopping on the grass... I kept wondering what it was up to and lost track of my class' content powerpoint slide after powerpoint slide. It got even worse when a second magpie arrived. Then, they started some kind of exchange of flying ideas, from here to there, then from there to here, always looking as if they were primarily trying to puzzle me. Following their movements made it a lot more complicated to explain fin de siècle and expressionism. I would have to take one, two steps back in my daughter's room to get my concentration back, and then come closer to the monitor again and avoid looking out. This afternoon, it seems like my brain had accepted their presence: they were here, but didn't disturb me any more. Like most of the birds, I suppose they don't need to fly off that far anyway: it is just as little thrilling elsewhere than it is here...