Teaching is bad for my writing and my health. Yesterday, I caught some virus that infected my throat. Probably from the secretary. She was having a cold and I spent much time sitting across her, doing nothing, since many students refused to come to class saying they were busy with work.
I had that ominous headache after Monday classes, and it got worse on Wednesday. Wasting time killed me. I devoted my whole day just waiting for those uncommitted bank workers who don't see the importance of learning English. Only one came, for thirty short minutes. While in fact, I was scheduled to teach at least five participants for a total of seven and a half hours.
Yeay. FREE MONEY. Everything that is against my idealism and professional integrity. Isn't life a joy.
It made me realize that the high school students were so much better than these ungrateful adults are. Now that I had agreed to teach on three more Wednesdays till the end of February, I regret every word of it. I did try to check with the other teacher to see if he could occupy the rest of my teaching days, but he couldn't.
Damn it to Hell. I seriously don't want to misuse my existence for people who don't appreciate the privileges they get. This is very, very wrong. The school pays me for doing absolutely nothing but sitting around like an idiot. Simply because these employees think ninety minutes of practicing English has no effect on their career. I hate my job.
Worrying about how miserable I will be in those three days restarts my headache. Today I almost cure my throat infection by taking medicine and some herbal fusion of ginger, tamarind, lemon, honey, milk, and caramel. Sleep also helped. I can't afford any more psychosomatic pain from harboring insurmountable guilt in my head.
Imagine something nice. The clouds I saw from the office's balcony yesterday. White bursts of fluffiness that cheered my sorry afternoon.
Thursday, February 9, 2012, 8:45 PM