Dedicating this song to those in Vancouver, those that knew right from wrong, and consequently put themselves in harm’s way to protect the city and its people during the riots.
We sat in classroom number nine. Our usual classroom two now hosted an EU funded English class, which according to funding regulations is to receive the best a school has to offer – if you paid for a class out of your own pocket, surprise, you’re second class.
While smaller, classroom two is in the cool wing of the school. Classroom nine has huge windows without window coverings of any sort, the blistering sun cooking us blind. This is our new, permanent room.
Ewelyna is a psych student and knows the subject of our article well – procrastination.
“The only way to read about procrastination is in foreign languages” she explains.
“We have a word for laziness, but in all forms of polish literature, procrastination is simply interpreted as laziness, and not investigated any further.”
Kasia looked scorched. She’s almost nine months pregnant which is easy to forget – it doesn’t show despite her small build. Maybe next week we’ll hit a cloudy day, and we can stop moving our chairs around to chase the bit of shade that moves across the room. By the end of today’s lesson, all students were lined up against the southern wall in the last of the shade.
While I do my best to teach my students English, they teach me and expose me to things you won’t find in a textbook. I’m glad I came here. The cost was extraordinary in many ways, but the benefits are incalculable. I’m quite certain I will be back sooner than later.
Tomorrow I start teaching medical English classes. I told my language school to look at my qualifications, but they said not to worry. I asked about quotas on how many deaths related to my teaching I am allowed per semester – still waiting for a definitive answer. (I was firm in that for a start I would not accept anything less than ten – “we can work to reduce the numbers as I gain more job experience.”)
I also added that if they need to dump the resulting bodies at my doorstep, they can do so at 8/18 Kopernicus Street. That’s a floor above me.
My enemies have had their last night of peaceful sleep – I’ve just been handed a licence to kill. Watch the blog for a live death toll counter.
PS: On average, what’s the going price on the organ black market for, say, a liver or heart?
I was hungry but didn’t cook – just didn’t eat. And then it hit me: if I had a child, I’d have a dead child. Thank god I don’t have a child. And then I did the grown up thing, and had a beer. Fuck, I feel grown up. Yeah, me. Yeah. Which makes me think, I’d really like to have a wife for this cooking thing – I’d cook for two. But just for myself? Not today honey.
