Warning: post contains slightly stronger language than I usually use on this ‘family-friendly’ blog. I supplied a few asterisks, but f**k it. The title should have been a heads-up. Expressions of anger are not as effective without swearing.
It nearly came out as an embarrassing series of inappropriate rants on Facebook, but thankfully I resisted. There are few things more cringe-making. Don’t do that.
It nearly came out as a torrent of snappish, undeserved and regrettable insults to various people around me, but I held back, having learned to control my temper a bit better over the past few years.
Lately, though, I’ve been failing. I snap easily. I’m not as laid-back as usual. I have no outlet for my anger, and so it’s building, building, building, and starting to seep out in toxic drips. The explosion must be imminent.
Then I remembered I have a blog, which hasn’t been getting updated nearly enough of late thanks to my life having settled into a comfortable but un-thrilling routine. So feck it. If I regret my seething fury spilling out in a mess of angry words here, I can always delete it when I’m calmer. Blog, take my anger and let it be gone from me lest I murder the next person who looks at me.
I am angry with people.
Like the people who commented on various Facebook posts about the sad case of Lennox, the pitbull-type dog in Belfast who was taken away from his adoring family and put down for being potentially dangerous after a long fight to save him. Yes, this was truly horrible. It is heartbreaking for the family. The law is an ass. But seriously, you would not believe how many comments I have read from international observers saying things like “I will never go to Belfast now. Murderers.” and “I always wanted to visit Ireland, but not any more – murdering scum.”. Are you f**king kidding me???? Have you ever heard of The Troubles? The IRA, the UVF, the UDA, Bloody Sunday, punishment beatings, the Omagh bombing… people have been murdering and being murdered there since before you were born, and although that never caused you to judge and label every last citizen as “murdering scum”, the (however unfair and tragic) lawful and humane putting to sleep of an unfortunate animal does?!! Seriously? SERIOUSLY. What the f**k is wrong with people?
And mosquitoes. What is up with mosquitoes? What purpose do they serve? Evil, pointless, blood-sucking, welt-causing, sleep-depriving, pain-inflicting, disease-spreading, insane-itch-supplying bastards.
Then there’s the fact that one of my kindergarten kids cries at absolutely every-f**king-thing, and seems to equate tears with saying “can you help me?” or, y’know, “hello”. After over 4 months of this, I have lost patience with him entirely, and said today “Jun, I will help you if you try, not if you cry!”. I was quite pleased with this motto, but quelle surprise, he just kept crying and whining. One of his sweet wee classmates gave him a comforting hug and he shoved her away, screamed at her, and promptly smacked her in the mouth. Spoiled, bullying little demon.
Also, my apartment is full of fruit flies, AGAIN. It’s f**king annoying, and impossible to resolve, especially since I nearly set the place on fire the other night with a poorly planned bug-spraying session while the gas ring was on cooking my kimchi jjigae. If I see a cockroach again this year I am leaving the country.
I am angry with various Korea-related issues, too. Like the seminar the government made all the foreign teachers attend this week, where they basically told us we weren’t good enough, don’t take our jobs seriously, are unprepared… oh, just have a look at a sample slide. Bastards.
And don’t get me started on men. MEN. It doesn’t matter if you’re trying to be friends with one, love one, argue with one, comfort one, reason with one, work with one, get over one, or like one for the sake of a friend who loves him. With the exception of one male – possibly two – in my life, they all have the potential and tendency to behave like total dickheads. Of course, women are probably as bad, and I am being a horrible, sexist bitch, but I never have the same issues in my relationships with women as I do with men. Or maybe it’s not men, it’s me. Or men and women are programmed in completely different ways and will always clash eventually. Whatever. I don’t care. I am just f**king angry, and this is not exactly a carefully thought through analysis of gender politics. Don’t call me un-PC, ’cause that’ll make me bloody angry, too.
I am angry with the kids in my classes who sit through my carefully-planned, well-thought-out, and several times repeated explanations of words or concepts, either day-dreaming or not giving a shit, and then, as soon as it’s time to do the related workbook exercise, go “Teacher, (thing just explained) is whaaaaaaat?” as if I neglected to f**king mention it. I just finished a class that nearly drove me insane – I spent ten full minutes introducing fire safety, complete with colourful pictures, flashcards, and a full-on mime session to illustrate “stop, drop, and roll”. I repeated these actions several times, getting them to tell me the words as I did the actions, which prompted much laughter. I asked several times if everyone understood. Then I gave them their worksheet and asked them to copy down the three words, and draw a picture for each one. It was almost f**cking instant: “Teacher, ‘drop’ is whaaaat?”. I felt like yelling “I was just down on the feckin’ floor, stopping and dropping and rolling like a feckin’ eejit, while all your classmates listened and watched and laughed, and I asked you over and over again if you got it, and you said you did, I cannot believe you are ASKING me this, aaaaarrrrrghhhhhh!!!”. I did not do this. I really bloody wanted to, though.
I am angry with my boss, who asks far more of me than she has any right to, and yet for whom I do it all and more because I like her, respect her, and genuinely want to help the school however I can. I am angry because she never acknowledges how much I actually do around here, values my male colleague more than me simply because he’s a f**king MAN, gives me guilt trips over tiny little things while overlooking the fact that I’m here for more hours than she is, these days, never communicates important information to me, and leaves me to deal with unpleasant tasks like telling someone they’re not getting a job after all, when she’d already promised it to them and I’d made a huge effort to find them for her.
I’m angry with my friends for leaving. I mean, I’m not angry with them, per se… but I’m angry that I stupidly let down my walls, found friends, good friends, loved them dearly, and now nearly all of them have moved away and are virtually strangers I’ll probably never see again. I’m angry that that’s what I do to people at home, but that I’m too selfish to notice unless it’s happening to me.
I’m angry at myself, I suppose. For so many things.
I’m angry with the bastard who ran over a kitten outside school this morning and just left it there in the road while its mother sat and cried pitifully by its tiny little body (and then I sat and cried by the crying mother).
I’m a smoker again, did I tell you that? For quite a while now, actually. Sorry to those who will tell me how disappointed they are in me. Sorry to me for the state of my lungs. Blah blah blah, sorry, sorry, sorry. But f**k it. Angry people need their nicotine. It prevents murder.
The first stone (14lbs) took me a month to lose. The second is apparently taking 25 years, despite more vigorous and increased exercise, and a healthier diet than I’ve ever had in my life. I’m angry with Jillian Michaels, my metabolism, and whoever puts the calories into vodka (one of the few necessarily unhealthy things still in my diet… but only at the weekends from now on).
Canadian immigration, by the way, what a f**king rigmarole.
I hate that even as I am writing this – on my own blog, for my own therapy and sanity! – I am worrying that I will offend somebody or get told off for swearing, or smoking, or drinking, or not being a patient enough teacher, or being too judgemental. If you don’t like it, go away. I don’t have the energy or inclination to apologise right now. Call back on Saturday, maybe. Or, you know what, better yet – leave it a few weeks till I’m on holiday. Things will be less infuriating then, I’m sure of it.
Oh, and it’s only Thursday. I hate that.
I am angry.
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