I lay on the grass as the tiny tabby caressed my shoes, purring in delight. I motioned her to come over and I snuggled against her soft young fur as I stared into the bright blue skies. I sigh. Cinders may be sweet, but in my mind I was lonely. I longed for human company. I blinked – nostalgia hit me. Piercing blue eyes. Rich, brown hair. I shuddered. I wanted my chai. Its aroma swayed in the gentle breeze from our empty kitchen. Stretching, Cinders understood it was time for her nap; she leaped into my arms as I ambled towards the sweet scent. The house was uncomfortably neat… Planning to unleash Cinder’s on our house, I tucked her away gently. I perched onto the dinner table, staring at the empty seats beside me; I carefully sipped from the genteel cup. I rested my head on my shoulder, tapping my feet, mind begging for company. Reaching for the bills on the table, I saw yet another envelope, rich French script upon it. I looked at it. My mind was telling me I should be smiling, but I wasn’t. The cream packaging was smooth and well-selected… I let my finger dare to dip under the seal, tearing it. I frowned. Throwing the letter aside and grabbing the remote in one swift movement, I let my mind subside in the antics of QI and their obsession with nude sports.
After an evening of mindless television, it was time one called it a day. I swept the scatter cushions off me and I climbed out of the spacious sofa, cushions flying everywhere. My mind again went to the letter once more as the empty cup caught my eye, next to the letter. Yawning, I grabbed my robe and shoved the letter down its pocket. I mooched towards the bedroom and flopped onto the giant, cold, empty mattress. As my thoughts started to unravel, I blinked and snapped out of it; quickly sweeping to my feet and stumbled to whip on my nightie. I swung the doors to our en suite wide open and gave my teeth no mercy. I tore at the water and threw what I ripped onto my face, icily leaving me disoriented. I caved into the heated towels and snuggled up to them, missing affection once more. I tugged at a towel and dragged it to bed with me, having it engulf my teddy. I snuggled up to the bear on my side of our bed. I wanted the letter. My head turned as my hand dragged its way into my robe, fumbling for paper. Having retrieved it, I smoothed out the creases. Turning onto my back I took a glance at the content. I groaned. The opening lines were in French. Cussing my brain for being not being able to stand French so late at night; I dropped the letter and let it dance to the floor. Grouchy, I turned to my side and stared at the empty space beside me. I closed my eyes and prayed my dreams will trick me into thinking otherwise, cradling the towelled teddy.
Teachers are fucking crazy
{ August 23, 2010 @ 10:50 pm } · { Professions, School }
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What I don’t get are teachers.
It’s the one profession I don’t think I would ever understand. Every time someone tells me they’re a teacher I think ‘What a fucking nutter’. Seriously, what goes on in their heads? In my admission it feels like they’re not happy with their selves, with a good degree, and their good grades in school; so they fling themselves off their wonder plinth of success, throwing themselves to the ground, at the mercy of us cunts- the students-for exceedingly crap pay. Come on, teachers are completely insane. Each and everyone one of them. Why would anyone do that? I’ve pondered over this for years. The only answers from these whackjobs I ever get are: to have an impact on society that one day one of their student’s becomes something big; the other being it’s something you can be devoted to easily. I have qualms of both these reasons. The first one, as I said before, most of us are cunts. Horrible, selfish, conceited cunts. Most of us will enter adulthood, with the same bitterness and anger diluted into our blood as we had in our crazy teen days. The crazy super happy ones, who barely had a social life, will get brilliant grades, go to university and yep you guessed it- throw themselves back into that social hell and become a teacher. Wootiwoo! Let the mindless cycle of sadists and masochists reign! Secondly, most of us will have empty office jobs or be a sales assistant our whole lives, not needing anything more than Basic English and Maths until the next trivia night at work; where the best prize would be a bottle or two of cheap champagne. How do these teachers live?! They simply don’t get enough respect or gratitude. Period. They waste most of their lives just getting us to remember our grammar and to keep at the right side of the corridor. We spend most our time flirting with each other and slagging everyone off – teachers especially. Oh how grateful we are! If were a teacher… I would try to make all their lives hell for being such malevolent little delinquents, until they learn to give some respect. Though we know that never works. You all hated every bitchy teacher, only to have respect for the outstanding and the humorous. Well gee…that’s what you get for being stupidly caring I guess…