One of those

It seems like I'm following up the last lazy post with another half assed effort. Well, you can't say I'm not consistent.

This evening's entertainment has been brought to you by Zubrówka vodka, a lack of sleep and the letter L.

My time here in Poland is drawing to a close. As of yesterday evening, my time left was reduced by 24 hours. For some retarded reason I got my dates mixed up and thought I was here until a week on Wednesday. It turns out I'm coming back a week on Tuesday. Arse.

My current theme of operation is a bi-polar approach to pretty much anything that I can wrap my head around. The slightest bit of inspiration is marred with an (I'd like to say equally, but I'm not that way inclined) a-pessimism. (That was an attempt to turn pessimism into a Present Perfect verb and to follow on from the 'an': not sure what you call that.) For every idea of something I can do, there's at least two excuses why not.

In the last week I've had the pleasure of finishing my work as a Callan Method English teacher. To re-cap, the Callan Method involves asking (foreign speaking) students quickfire questions (in English). I can't really comment on its standard of teaching English, but I can say it's been the only opportunity to ask Pole's questions like:

If you fell from the top of a building, what would happen?
Have you ever seen a fight in the street? Between two drunks for example...
[And] Why is it some people want to fight the moment they get drunk?

In spite of all the stress of teaching (such as finding and getting to students' classes in the remotest parts of Warsaw, getting them to speak English regardless of their abilities...) I have to say it's more interesting than the usual service industry shit employment that is waiting for me back home. I look forward to my next interview where I can explain that, 'I was paid a reasonable amount of money to talk to people'. Perhaps I should only apply for journalist type jobs when I get back.

During this past week I've been doing conversation classes, which is pretty much what it sounds like. I have a conversation in English, with a Pole. (Yes, I just noticed how amusing it would be if it read: ...with a pole.) I've had the chance to talk to some staff writers of Rzeczpospolita, one of the three national dailies based in Warsaw. Cunningly using my conversation session to do further research on getting into the media, I've reached the familiar conclusion: sell yourself for nothing (or less than you're worth)... maybe you'll get a contract after a few years.

And this is the shit kicker (a poker term, where you're practically unused card is beaten by an opponent's better practically unused card). I'm not 18, 19 or 21. My folks don't own a house in or near the city. My folks don't have any connections of any sort out of the square mile that is Newquay. Journalism seems to be something done by those who can [afford to]. It looks like I'll be serving pints or writing hollow press releases until I can afford a midlife crisis internship.

If the worst comes to the worst I can apply to become an English teacher in England. I used to watch Teachers, it looked pretty cool. I just hope I never come face to face with myself at age thirteen:

Me, 13: 'So this is what you did with your life?'
Me: 'Yeah. You should probably work on your ambitions.'