No more eating on the moon

"...and thus saith the Lord, grad school shall be thy bane, devouring thy life. Shouldst thou peradventure survive the scouring fires of high learning, thou shalt inherit kingdoms, principalities, and 401K's, worlds without end." -Bible

There once was a time when I was not finishing up grad school, flying to different states for 3-4 days per weekend, and absorbing equal parts wisdom and horror while observing a middle school class for hours per week. Such was a time when this blog thrived. Thrived, I say.

There is good news upon the horizon. Firstly, being that I only have 3 more classes where large quantities of assignment must be turned in. Secondly, I shall not be student teaching in the abysmal, miserable pit of the deepest hell, which is middle school, but rather at the boarding school where I have been doing the other, infinitely more pleasant half of my observations. Thirdly, student teaching shall be accomplished over the summer, rather than next fall, and therefore I shall enter the hiring pool during the dreadfully difficult first of the year, rather than the horrifically impossible middle of the year. In reality, no time is a good time right now, but at least the fall is better, to a degree.

My time, over the last 3 months, as an ersatz photographer, has been interesting to say the least. I've come to despise airports and flying, which I never thought would happen. I have come to view them as giant dens of disease, filth, discomfort, and absurdly overpriced bagels and gummy bears. I have gotten sick at least twice during the last 3 months, which i attribute to being exposed to all manner of nefarious, foreign pathogens, with which I'd have probably not under normal circumstances come into contact. And charging 4 dollars for a bagel with cream cheese? Get real airport, this isn't the damned moon.

I hate the roll of the dice when you get on the plane, sit down, and wait for the person who is going to sit next to you. Nervously observing and scrutinizing each person as they make the long walk down the aisle, ever nearing your seat. Will it be the babe with the short hair and spectacular boots? Or the 432 lb man behind her? Will I get a screaming baby? A smelly person? The drunk guy on his way to the Nascar races in Vegas, who yells at his friends in other sections of the plane, informing them about how stoked he is, every time he gets stoked? Which is ever few minutes? So stoked, that guy.

I never got the babe with the boots. I did, however, on several occasions, have a panniculus contending for all of my arm space, and at least half of my seat space. And the smelly guy. And the nightmare baby. And the Nascar imbecile. Just never that babe. The Gods of Southwest airlines, or as I called it "The Peoples' Plane," ever conspired against me.

Sleeping in many different motels of varying degrees of shittiness also gave me anxiety. I feel like the bed spreads in cheap motels are nothing, if not veritable semen depositories. And even though I always remove the DNA blanket, I still feel like trace remnants of X and Y chromosomes have certainly taken refuge upon the remainder of the "clean" sheets.

I don't even want to think about the showers/tubs. I mean, no way are those in any way adequately cleaned. If I were a motel cleaning engineer, I'll be damned if I would do anything more than run a clorox wipe over everything. I've found that clorox wipes do not dissolve orphan pubic hair forsaken by the previous host occupants, and said motel cleaning technicians do not seem to go out of their way to gather them up. A large den of rats could build a fairly sturdy nest, with all of the abandoned hair I have found in bathrooms during the last few months.

Anyways.

Even though there were aspects of the job I enjoyed, I'm glad it's over. Although, this means that over the summer, I'm probably going to have to return to the true bane of my existence...the soul rending destroyer of all hope and happiness, killer of good moods and attitudes....

Serving.

Obama save me.