HI, MY NAME IS ERIN, and I'm on a contract. I have been trying, lately, to say that much possible because, like academic writing, being on a teaching contract is something many of us do but few of us like to talk about. sort of feels like a confession, which is bizarre, given that, at least in the case of the contract that I'm on, this line of work is pretty humane. Though, of course, there are some foibles. Earlier this year I was approached by a colleague about speaking on a Committee for Professional Concerns panel at accute. I imagined giving an incredibly well-wrought short talk, something to entertain the ears, elucidate the mind, and, ultimately, incite my listeners into some sort of action. And I'd be funny. Lots of witty turns of phrase. I envisioned what I would say while I was mired in grading. I thought about it while planning lectures. I saw myself writing it on Sunday evenings after I'd finished the week's lecture plans. I thought of the people I know who are either also doctorate holders in contract positions or facing a market that is as it's been since the last time it was bad and concentrated on how I would represent our experiences while somehow managing to walk the tightrope of accuracy without falling into pessimism or overt optimism. I even started doing some research. Even a cursory look at the Chronicle of Higher Education finds a wealth of insightful-yet-dreary reports on the rising numbers of sessional workers, adjunct professors, and limited-term faculty. The New Yorker featured a cover with a PHD-holder moving back into his childhood bedroom while his parents look on nervously (Barreca). And who can forget the Macleans article, It Hurts When You Call Me Professor, whose tag line reads They've got phds. They're paid like fast food And they're your teachers. I recall first reading that one while I was in graduate school, and I remember thinking: how upsetting. Why doesn't someone do something? I also thought, frankly, meh. For I've done most everything right. Service? Check. Finish within four years with sshrc funding? Check. Conference presentations and ongoing publications? Check. And I'm reasonably nice and suitably provocative. Surely, I thought in my secret little heart, I would be an exception. As I worked through this research I thought about how I'd relay it in a witty-yet-serious fashion. I could talk about alienation of labour or, more positively, offer some ideas for academic utopian performatives. But more so, I started to worry. After all, I'm on this panel because I've just completed my first term an Assistant Professor. And, despite the fact that my contract (which at the time of Congress had just been renewed) is for ten months at a time, it has been a really good year. My colleagues are welcoming; I'm not really what Macleans called a member of the invisible class of workers. My fellow department members recognize that I'm exploited and work to support me. Indeed, that my position exists at all is due to a decision on the department's part to push for an LTA hire rather than to parse out per-course contracts. Although there are always new situations to negotiate: students who ask if I can supervise them are unprepared for the reply that we'll have to wait and see if I'm here next year. But really, it's a pretty good gig. I'm constantly reminded--by myself, by my mentors, by friends--that I'm luckier than most of my peers. My inability to begin this paper brought me, somewhat reluctantly, to my first point about holding an LTA: teaching an over-load means at the very least sacrificing wit. What I mean here is that in a teaching appointment (meaning that, for example, since September 2009 I've taught seven classes and about three hundred students; in the 2010-11 year I'll teach the same numbers) one still manages to write a little, but the time needed to shape and style the argument is challenged. …