Time for a break here at the Batthaim, I think.
After a year of relief teaching I’ve accepted a contract to teach English at the local High School part-time, and to say I suck at it would be like noticing the Antarctic is a touch nippy at this time of year. Consequently, running full-pelt just to keep up with everyone else’s strolling is eating my life. Writing has come to a shuddering halt, and frankly, I’m dispirited and disillusioned enough that it’s entirely possible it will never start up again. Thanks to an unpaid Christmas period, I can’t afford to pick kickboxing back up or renew my pool and gym memberships for months– if at all this year, thanks to all the other massive financial hits that have decided now was the right time for a multi-issue cross-over event– so fitness and workouts have taken a dive into shitedom.
Everything is all too much, and right now I have neither the energy nor the will to pretend that I have anything to offer the Universe. I might have a handle on this new position by the end of the ten-week first term. I might not. I might be in a position to return to my dancing monkey-boy side job. I might not. After 48 years of scratching every moment to try and be something special beyond the anonymous food processing unit my family history and social stratum bequeathed me at birth, I’m ready to admit defeat. I can’t help feeling I would have been better off just settling for a life of unambitious pissheadery, as did all my forebears.
Time for a break.