Behind the cut will be a lot of bitching. I hate doing this, but I need to get it out of my system. I suggest not looking behind the cut.

I quit. I’m really tired of trying to be a teacher, when it’s abundantly clear that this is not the profession for me. It’s not that I’m not good at it. Actually, I’m damn good at teaching. And I enjoy it. I absolutely love it.

But as I was sitting in my apartment today, waiting for the electric company to turn my power back on because they didn’t notice I’d made a payment arrangement for another time and trying to figure out just how overdrafted I’ll be if I don’t get paid somehow soon, it occurred to me that I will never get ahead as a substitute teacher. Hell, I’ll never catch up. I’m up to my ears in debt, have a one-room apartment filled with electronics that are fading to obsolescence or simply a state of inoperability, poor credit, and am trying to make my way in a field that loses money every year and will again next year. The simple fact of the matter is that there are dozens of teachers with better qualifications than me who are without a job right now, and there’s no way they’re going to hire a guy who’s never had a classroom of his own when there are other people out there who have been teaching for years who are just as desperate as I am.

So, I guess my only option is to look for something corporate. I didn’t need that soul. Sure, you can suck it right out of me. I’ll hate it, but after a while I’ll get used to the drudgery. It’s not like I wasn’t aiming for a job where I’d be underpaid and under appreciated anyway, so I might as well add “treated like a number” and “entirely powerless to affect a difference, no matter how minor, on the world” to that lineup. Soon enough I’ll forget I ever really wanted to be a teacher. It’ll be a party story, the kind that starts, “Hey, remember when I thought I was a teacher?” and can go with my “…when I thought I was a writer” tales. Maybe I’m just too lazy to make these kind of things actually happen, and there’s my problem. I’ll accept responsibility for that, making this entire post an exercise in ego-centric, adolescent, emotional masturbation.

On an up note, I have things to try and cheer me up, in my typically ironic way. A certain amount of musical talent allows me the ability to to actually play (and I did this afternoon) the “I Ain’t Gonna Be a Teacher Blues.” Still working on the lyrics, but it was amusing at the very least. I don’t have to worry about being kinky in public any more. I might actually one day make a living wage, shortly before being forced into retirement.

In the meantime, I have no option but to continue subbing and tutoring until I find something else. I’ll keep applying to teaching jobs until I get something else. My heart just isn’t really in it any more. I still want to be a teacher, more than I can possibly explain here, but it’s just horribly unlikely that I will be able to in the near future. And by the time it might be possible, I’ll be an empty simulacrum of a human being, devoid of drive or desire, a corporate tool who cares about nothing besides the interminable, relentless, crawling march of the clock between nine and five, if I’m lucky enough to find something full time that isn’t immediately shipped to one of three buildings in a marginally third-world country, only one of which has electricity at any one time. Based on the number of cliches in that last sentence, I anticipate it won’t be a long conversion.