Unlucky

It is one small feat to enter a classroom of seventeen 15 year olds at eight in the morning. It is another thing if you can conduct a lesson without choking. In that span of 70 pitting-out minutes, if you can walk away with a normal amount of octaves, a steady pulse, and a sense of peace in the world, only then can you pump your fist for vic-tor-ee!

It was my volition to work primarily with teenagers. Why? Because they're so...interesting, which is a euphemism for unpredictable, erratic, inscrutable and pathetic. Having survived a spotty adolescence myself, it is with humility and grace that I try to level with them and get educated.

Typical of this population, it is a time in which biology books personify boys as octopodes. Meanwhile girls outgrow the single consonant sized brassiers at the rate of hormonal fluids pumping into a cow's udder. Duelling with angst, acne, serious insecurity and pettiness; I can sympathise. My karma however, is not mirroring any of this expected familiarity. No. Instead, I have been at the behest of little, intolerant shits.

Bigotry is another ball game...