I've had the sneaking suspicion that the S.O. kind of looks down on my job. Not in the sense that he looks down on being a teacher, but in the sense that he doesn't get how hard it is, or how much energy it takes. I already said I try not to complain about my job to him, because he is working super long hours. But at the same time, after teaching eight straight classes today, grading journals in between during breaks, having another load of lesson plan paperwork dumped on me for tomorrow, and then running to the study room afterward to teach more classes, his sarcastic little pause on the phone when I made a comment about how hard today was after he fucking woke me up was not appreciated.
So I felt inclined to finally make it clear that, although I know he is working long hours, sitting in front of a computer all day can really not compare to controlling forty wild teenage boys for eight hours in row in a language they don't understand.
"Pssssh. I could control."
Yeah? Yeah, S.O.? You know what? I would love to see it. I really would love to sit and watch that. Because the only thing the boys will try to eat alive faster than a young female teacher is a young male teacher in whom they sense any weakness at all. We had a new young male teacher start this year. Do you know what happened to him in his first week? A student (who, I would like to point out, I have never had a single problem out of) kicked him in the shin and the entire class proceeded to hoot and holler and laugh, until the teacher ended up crying in the teacher's office after school.
That shit is not a joke. I don't think any job could possibly make you brain dead faster. Yes, it's true that I'm home by 6:30 or 7 most nights. But can I fucking function once I make it home, in order to actually do anything productive with that time? Not these days. Not at 27 teaching hours a week, I cannot. I keep dragging my sorry ass to the coffee shop after work in a vain attempt to keep up the Korean studying now-turned-charade, and then end up just staring at an incomprehensible page for 45 minutes, before giving up and going home.
Then I mostly try not to fall asleep until 10 or so. Until his sorry ass calls me because he's out for a fucking walk, getting some exercise after his day of sitting in a fucking chair.
I love my job, but eight classes in a day is simply too much. The thing is, it wears on your patience. I have the theory that adding teaching hours onto other teaching hours is not simple 1 + 1 = 2 math we're talking -- it's exponential. N to the eighth fucking power. Because, with every class you teach, your patience gets depleted. And the less patience you have left, the harder the next class is.
The last person I was more seriously seeing in Korea and I had to finally just give up on seeing each other on weeknights. Because he would crack a simple, childish joke and I would find it difficult not to haul off and give a smartass comment about how I was around children all fucking day and --
Anyway. It's not that serious at the moment. I can handle the students much more easily than I used to be able to. But I am tired. And my patience is thin. And if there were any way in the world I could make that little man stand up there and do what I do for eight hours in a row just once, I would do it.
He could control. Really. Really......