The picture on her desk suited her personality perfectly.
It was of a desert, but not a pretty cactus flower, no. This was the hard-packed, wind-blown sand formations that resembled waves of the sea. This was a hot, hard, gritty place. It conjured the feel of the wind slamming tiny grains of sand into your hair and scrubbing your face raw. You felt dry and squinty just looking at this corrosive and abrasive scene.
She grated on the nerves, making her students wince. She had a one-track mind and refused to listen to any request by student or aide until her insane organizing of every task was completed. She made notes in a notebook every day on her assignments. When someone finished that assignment, she started a new page, rewriting everything over again for each newly completed work. If someone tried to speak to her, she yelled and demanded they wait.
There was no time for smelling roses here; no appreciation for spontaneity; a dry sense of humor quickly blown away in the strong breeze of agitation.
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