(no subject)
Oct. 18th, 2006 06:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyI have had a day.
Two students walked out of lessons, one student passed out in lesson. And I. Um. Okay, so I'm actually feeling immensely guilty about this but I kinda shopped a teacher. Who is a drama teacher teaching English and she doesn't know the subject. Like, at all. She misuses words, she gives confusing and Just Plain Wrong examples, she gets me to do her marking for her which I'm genuinely okay with if it's because she's busy but it's because she knows I know the subject better than her. And most of this I'm okay with because when there's class discussion I can kinda... poke things in the right direction, but if the students' marks are at risk because of what the teacher, the figure of authority, is teaching them... I'm kinda obliged to point it out, right? Right?
*bites lip*
I feel like sliiiiime.
I also feel like slime because of being ill some more, which is fine, I'm used to it and now I have nose-running and sneezing and all those pleasant things rather than chest-straining cough and sinus pressure and all that. I'd rather leak than feel like I'm gonna explode. :D
I'm also having one of those days where I just realise that I know way, way too many intelligent people and I feel the urge to go hide under a rock until they all go away. To the library, or whatever. You ever get that feeling? I have, like, brainpenis envy.
...wow. Brainpenis. There's a lovely mental image.
PS this is a very very scary thing
I do not like Roman Jakobson also, in spite of him being called Roman which would usually earn points with me. I do not like him because he uses sentences like 'In poetry, and to a certain extent in latent manifestations of poetic function, sequences delimited by word boundaries become commensurable whether they are sensed as isochronic or graded.' Which, y'know, when I have a cold that's just unnecessary. I fear if I ever read any Derrida I'd have to beat him with a shoe. (See what I mean about being clevar?)
I'm going to go change into some more comfortable trousers, now. YES, TROUSERS! I'M ENGLISH! HUGH LAURIE IS OURS, DAMMIT!
*ahem*
I have to stop watching old episodes of QI.
I forgot! I got a D at GCSE. I'm immensely proud of my D, because my D can be entirely (and by entirely I mean completely and utterly and in all other ways) blamed on porn. They tried to take it away and re-mark it for me and I was like nuuuuuuuuuuu *clings* but it's okay. It still came back a D. My porn D.
*beams*
Two students walked out of lessons, one student passed out in lesson. And I. Um. Okay, so I'm actually feeling immensely guilty about this but I kinda shopped a teacher. Who is a drama teacher teaching English and she doesn't know the subject. Like, at all. She misuses words, she gives confusing and Just Plain Wrong examples, she gets me to do her marking for her which I'm genuinely okay with if it's because she's busy but it's because she knows I know the subject better than her. And most of this I'm okay with because when there's class discussion I can kinda... poke things in the right direction, but if the students' marks are at risk because of what the teacher, the figure of authority, is teaching them... I'm kinda obliged to point it out, right? Right?
*bites lip*
I feel like sliiiiime.
I also feel like slime because of being ill some more, which is fine, I'm used to it and now I have nose-running and sneezing and all those pleasant things rather than chest-straining cough and sinus pressure and all that. I'd rather leak than feel like I'm gonna explode. :D
I'm also having one of those days where I just realise that I know way, way too many intelligent people and I feel the urge to go hide under a rock until they all go away. To the library, or whatever. You ever get that feeling? I have, like, brainpenis envy.
...wow. Brainpenis. There's a lovely mental image.
PS this is a very very scary thing
I do not like Roman Jakobson also, in spite of him being called Roman which would usually earn points with me. I do not like him because he uses sentences like 'In poetry, and to a certain extent in latent manifestations of poetic function, sequences delimited by word boundaries become commensurable whether they are sensed as isochronic or graded.' Which, y'know, when I have a cold that's just unnecessary. I fear if I ever read any Derrida I'd have to beat him with a shoe. (See what I mean about being clevar?)
I'm going to go change into some more comfortable trousers, now. YES, TROUSERS! I'M ENGLISH! HUGH LAURIE IS OURS, DAMMIT!
*ahem*
I have to stop watching old episodes of QI.
I forgot! I got a D at GCSE. I'm immensely proud of my D, because my D can be entirely (and by entirely I mean completely and utterly and in all other ways) blamed on porn. They tried to take it away and re-mark it for me and I was like nuuuuuuuuuuu *clings* but it's okay. It still came back a D. My porn D.
*beams*
