So the teaching one class a week at the art high school? Okay: the students are lovely, the work is not impossibly hard, and I’m over my terror
of teaching. Yay.
However, should I agree to take a teaching job ever
again, I would like you to handcuff me to a drainpipe and rub my face
with a pumice stone, because doing this so as to get good intel for
Squire is one thing, but under no circumstances should I get confused
and think I’m doing this because I love it more than I hate getting
dressed nice, putting on shoes, standing in line at the photocopy
store, and waiting for trams in the freezing rain.
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