Three Miles Between Love and Hate

Today, I have my last class at Pleasantville County College. I loathe the instructor. I don't know precisely why, but just some random guesses here:

- It's obviously the first class he ever taught
- He only teaches to the Indian men
- He is an Indian man (no, no, no. I do not hate all Indian men. I hate the one at Evil Empire who fired me. Some of my best friends...oh, never mind.)
- I don't understand him. He doesn't have a thick accent but he puts accents on words in places where they don't belong. Plus, he's very soft-spoken.
- The class is supposed to be about a technique used in analysis. Instead, we've been flung headlong into completely non-intuitive software for the technique.
- Last week, when he divided us into teams for an exercise, I walked out the door. I freaking hate that team stuff. I do not have three other people in my cubicle when I'm working and let me tell you, that's a good thing.

Okay. I think that's enough. I'm going to ooze into class this morning at least half an hour late, apologize profusely, and no doubt steam through the rest of the class. I know I'm acting like a spoiled 13 year old. My inner brat can be silent, but she still steams.

I worked a gig at Volunteer Theatre yesterday, a kiddie program. Although I refused to touch any of the little germ factories, I did find them fun and funny.

I have another gig at Volunteer Theatre about an hour after class ends. This one is an Irish folk band, one of my faves for a very long time. I'm very excited about that, because I love these guys. When I first heard them, I didn't have the slightest clue that I had a drop of Irish blood in me but in the intervening years, I've learned that each and every side of my family, wherever they originated from (Scotland, Wales and England) spent an intervening century or so in Ireland before sailing for America.

After class, I'll head directly for Volunteer Theatre. At least there's the promise of a good time there.

Éirinn go Brágh!