Pardon me for not writing for a while, I'm in hell. Over year ago I deliberated over whether I should return to England and decided that at the very least it would end the deliberation and show me if things really are better abroad. I was feeling the gnaw of the English work ethic telling me that if my work wasn't making me suffer, I wasn't really achieving anything. Well, I've found that you can suffer AND not achieve anything, unless deepening wrinkles can count as an achievement. Worse still, when you are in England with nowt to your name, your lack of achievement of anything in significant life is really highlighted by the high fliers that surround you.
Recent news. I got out of London. It's the summer, I'm half way through my MA and I got a comparatively good job. What makes it only comparatively good is that it is still ESL teaching. Is this my karma for giving my teachers a hard time at school? I was always a firm believer in the the old adage 'those who can, do. Those who can't, teach'. Serves me right, eh? But putting aside my disrespect for my own 'profession', I'm at a good school, with real teachers, not just scruffy backpacker types. Salary is much more favourable than the London jobs, and the commute is negligible. However the responsibilities are tenfold and I have spent about four extra-curricular hours today on marking and preparing. After all these years of avoiding a serious teaching position (especially of low level learners) I find myself still on the lower ranks of the learning curve.
Being back in the quite westcountry is alright though. It's nice to see some birds that aren't pigeons and to completely avoid public transport. Note that that doesn't mean I can drive or anything- oh no, I haven't even got a license to my name-, I just walk to avoid it. One unexpected disadvantage though is that instead of getting waited on hand and foot at home, I find the tables turned. After dragging myself back home yesterday, feeling ready for a kip, I was instead greeted with a request to cook dinner. for six. And I mean people, not o'clock.
Anyway, it's six minutes until my self-imposed bedtime. I'll try and do something interesting to write about in the near future, but don't hold your breath.
