I’ve just got in from another day of hell learning how to teach English. I have been told a dozen more words and other such terminology I’ve never heard of. I cannot explain tenses. I don’t know what a gerund is. I had to look up the words for this title to see what form they were. What’s worse is every non-native speaker has got it down backwards, which makes me feel like a fud. There are some serious gaps in my knowledge that some damn teacher will have to answer for. Where was I when they were handing out grammar brains? Was I smoking weed behind the bike shed? Did I black out from ages 13 to 16? I have a vague recollection of learning how to stress syllables with Shakespeare, which was followed by getting pelted with Smarties during break time. Writing “I must not let other people bully me” as lines on a blackboard just didn’t cut it for my grasp of dangling modifiers. My brain cells are dead.
So too is my love life, which has of late taken a turn for the non-existent. Granted there isn’t much love to be found when you’re studying, researching, and attempting to teach for the first time for twelve-hour days, but this is ridiculous. It’s going to force me into the temporary warm embrace of cocaine and hookers. I’ve even been too exhausted to have a wank. The only post I get from dating websites is to tell me there has been no “action” on my page for a while. No shit Sherlock. Thank you for the gross understatement.
I’ve been wearing the same jeans for over a week as the washer has broken down, and my good white shirt has been stained blue at the cuffs. My one hoodie is riddled with bobbles, and I’m convinced I have rosacea. I desperately need to get to a gym, otherwise I’m in danger of being thrown back into the sea. Some guy chipped my tooth with a pint glass. There’s too much ginger hair in my crap beard. First world problems.
In short, dear reader, and as ever, Valentines day has me in my usual twisted mood. If there was an equivalent of a Scrooge for these 24 hours of the devils own creation from the seventh circle of hell, manifested with the heartbreaking lonely scream of a wailing banshee with a paper cut on her tongue, look no further than yours truly. Bah lovebug. At least I understand that “relationship” is past tense.
Bitter; adjective. Cynical; adjective. Cupid; noun and bastard.
I’ve just got in from another day of hell learning how to teach English. I have been told a dozen more words and other such terminology I’ve never heard of. I cannot explain tenses. I don’t know what a gerund is. I had to look up the words for this title to see what form they were. What’s worse is every non-native speaker has got it down backwards, which makes me feel like a fud. There are some serious gaps in my knowledge that some damn teacher will have to answer for. Where was I when they were handing out grammar brains? Was I smoking weed behind the bike shed? Did I black out from ages 13 to 16? I have a vague recollection of learning how to stress syllables with Shakespeare, which was followed by getting pelted with Smarties during break time. Writing “I must not let other people bully me” as lines on a blackboard just didn’t cut it for my grasp of dangling modifiers. My brain cells are dead.
So too is my love life, which has of late taken a turn for the non-existent. Granted there isn’t much love to be found when you’re studying, researching, and attempting to teach for the first time for twelve-hour days, but this is ridiculous. It’s going to force me into the temporary warm embrace of cocaine and hookers. I’ve even been too exhausted to have a wank. The only post I get from dating websites is to tell me there has been no “action” on my page for a while. No shit Sherlock. Thank you for the gross understatement.
I’ve been wearing the same jeans for over a week as the washer has broken down, and my good white shirt has been stained blue at the cuffs. My one hoodie is riddled with bobbles, and I’m convinced I have rosacea. I desperately need to get to a gym, otherwise I’m in danger of being thrown back into the sea. Some guy chipped my tooth with a pint glass. There’s too much ginger hair in my crap beard. First world problems.
In short, dear reader, and as ever, Valentines day has me in my usual twisted mood. If there was an equivalent of a Scrooge for these 24 hours of the devils own creation from the seventh circle of hell, manifested with the heartbreaking lonely scream of a wailing banshee with a paper cut on her tongue, look no further than yours truly. Bah lovebug. At least I understand that “relationship” is past tense.