Still Hate This

What is my fucking problem? Doesn't it seem weird to anybody that I'm an English Literature graduate student but in the three years I've been teaching I have never taught literature? I have taught composition for three years. That's fine and all but what the fuck? Are they trying to tell me something? Because this coming semester is the last semester of my "guarantee" which basically means from every semester on I'm going to have to grovel or suck serious dick to get a fucking teaching job which add it up totally blows. How is this a world class institution that is supposed to be providing me with a diversity of experience when year after year all I teach is composition, and year after year all they offer classes in is dead old british lit and ancient as fuck medieval romances and the ever infuriating fragmented funness that is modernism. Did I mention how awful a person has to be to bitch about grad school? Pretty fucking awful. And yet, I still don't feel that I rank nearly as awful on the foul scale as someone who bitches about not being able to afford their own home at age 25. That person reeks of something special on the filth meter.

And Christmas presents? what? why? After I pay my bills I'll have $75 to spend on 5 people. INTERESTING. And I am not one of those gifted crafty people who can take their trash and turn it into a post-modern minimalist furniture/lighting fixture/coffee table conversation piece.

I am filled with contempt.

Oh by the way is anybody going to go the Slipper Club tonight at 10pm to see The Hat Party hint hint hint please? We might have been a little slack on the telling anybody about it until it's almost too late thing. But now you know. It's like a secret show. A very special secret that I'm only telling you about. Are you not very intrigued by this? Are you not compelled by your innate curiousity to see what this is all about?