I can't begin to explain how shit today has been so far. I can't really have a rant about it, since I'm sure slagging off your colleagues on an online diary must be unprofessional on some level. Let's just say I have been embarrassed and belittled and if this outbreak of amnesia is due to psychological strain then, sweet Jesus up a tree, I’m due a relapse. I’m only managing to get on with this because this is the first moment I have been left alone, despite only having one lesson so far.

I was in quite a jovial mood yesterday afternoon. I was all ready to come in today and do a bit of work, sort out memos to my forms class teachers, as well potter on the Internet, write a nice long entry on this. I would probably have discussed Shabaz, in more detail than I will now, ( Big Brother, Sorry- I know it’s all trendy these days to pretend we are above it all, it’s a horrid vulgar programme and I’ve got my own life, I don’t need to watch some saddos sit about in a house doing sweet Fanny Adams all day- but who are we kidding?) who has nearly given me an ulcer in one short week.

I honestly didn’t think I was capable of finding someone quite so abhorrent and exasperating. It makes for good television but it seems to make me shout a lot, much to a living companion’s chagrin. Apparently, the neighbours can hear me. I’m sorry but the man is repugnant, even taking into account a level exhibitionism and attention-seeking common in such programmes. Is his ploy to accuse everyone of being racist and homophobic until they crack, give in and become homophobes and racists just to shut him up, or possibly brain him? It would seem so.

Alas, of course, he is gone now, much to the relief of partner and neighbours, no doubt, alike. I am left with Nikki to mock, whose voice has the quality of a cross between a whining year 10 girl and a kitten being grated.

I must leave you now, before I am busted, as it were, by the powers that shame and humiliate. May your working environment be infinitely more enjoyable than mine.

Tomorrow I have a lesson in the morning, a lesson in the afternoon and four hours in between. I'll get down to the long post everyone is no doubt dying for then. I know you're giddy with anticipation.

I'm back at school. My comment thingy is all ballsed. I keep trying to post one but then it disappears. Perhaps I have loads of comments from well-wishers and admirers and they just haven't been able to get through. I shall comfort myself with this thought. They don't know what's wrong with me. They think it is stress but that all sounds a little weak kneed to me. I've been referred to a neurologist to make sure. Who is mr anonymous? I apologise if I know but have forgotton.

Here is a thought: One of my year 9s tried to tell me today that she had let her rabbit out in the garden with the cat and the two mated. She tried to convince me that her cat subsequently gave birth to 'cabbits.'

Indeed!

I have been signed off work again due to this odd not being able to remember anything malarky. I am at worcester library. I don't have the internet at home. It's just as well. Reading entries and discovering all the things I have forgotton is depressing me. Be back soon. Not that anyone has noticed I've gone. :(

Haloscan commenting and trackback have been added to this blog.

All my posts start with 'I'. How self-centred. Except this one doesn't.

Something for you all to mull over:

It's is not, it isn't ain't, and it's it's, not its, if you mean it
is. If you don't, it's its. Then too, it's hers. It isn't her's. It
isn't our's either. It's ours, and likewise yours and theirs.
-- Oxford University Press, Edpress News

I have problems with holidays of any kind. The longer they are, the worse it is.

Don’t get me wrong- spending Friday night in my lovely house, with my significant other, drinking Southern Comfort and lemonade, while listening, enraptured (cough), as he played stuff I like on the keyboard, was great.

Going out for dinner at our favourite Italian and then moseying on down to one of my preferred public houses to drink more Southern Comfort was charming.

Cooking someone’s special sausage, mash and leeks a la Danielle and then spending Sunday afternoon watching the wonderful Nathan Fillion (Firefly, Serenity) in ‘Slither’ was enthralling. So was the subsequent pub quiz at our local, even if the place does smell of greased up fat people and we lost. Any Shakespeare questions I may or may not have got wrong were irrelevant in light of ‘someone’ being a good 32 years out, as far as their guess for when the Lincoln memorial was erected was concerned.

Monday, likewise, was a festival of delights. I lounged around a lot, avoiding any marking, then made a lasagne and watched an old ‘Sharpe’ I purchased on DVD.

“Let’s get buggers tha’ d’it!” (I spent Sunday evening attempting to do a Yorkshire accent and shouting such things as “ You Sir, what business do you have telling an Officer of the British Army what to do?! Name and rank, you scurvy knave!” “Major Sharpe, Company of the South Essex” “Oh, I see, sorry Sir!”)

No, the problem is that it makes me realise how exquisite not being at school is and, in contrast, how much school is a syphilitic disfigurement on the face of my otherwise delightful life. This may sound a bit excessive and I suppose I am exaggerating but it doesn’t feel that way on a Monday, or in this case, Tuesday morning.

The thing is, I don’t know what else I’m good for. An uncertain future looms in front of me. I have lots of qualifications! Surely someone is willing to employ me to do something relatively easy for a large amount of money and still let me have school holidays off? No? Damn.