Recently I have been trying very hard to consider the things that make me happy - the things that are guaranteed to make me smile (there is a fairly epic and self-indulgent 100th blog-post that I have been crafting over the last week or so... watch this space).
But in this last week, there seems to be a number of things that are making me furious beyond rage. That kind of anger when your thoughts are drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears. So in the interests of venting my spleen, of letting go of this carcinogenic bile, of returning to some semblance of contentment, allow me to rant a little.
West Bubblefuck Soccer Association
So I have already vented about my successful campaign to regain the points that were robbed from me and my merry band of U14s boys. But they still continue to frustrate me.
This weekend was a washout. At least, today was. Despite the beaming sunshine. But the catch-up day tomorrow is still on. Because what else does anybody want to do on a Sunday than do a re-run of Saturday.
And The Matriarch of Soccer in West Bubblefuck refuses to tell me where I can find the information about whether or not tomorrow is going ahead. Instead she demands that I call her to find out. Because she wants to be at the centre of the universe.
The Australian Media
If Tony "Bert" Abbott gets in as our new PM, I may well cry. Having said that The Redhead's policies of Education Funding are almost as depressing... But if The Right Wing Nut gets in, it will be because the Australian Media has allowed the Australian Public to forget about what a COMPLETE LUNATIC Abbott actually is. This is the man who referred to women 'saving their precious gift'.
This is the man who preached abstinence then was involved in a paternity situation. This man said he wasn't going to let his daughters get vaccinated for the cervical cancer vaccine! This man said that Aboriginals might just have to pick up rubbish because everybody needs a job.
This man shouldn't be allowed out of his own house, let alone be in charge of the House of Parliament!!!!
NSW Institute of Teachers
I finally submitted my accreditation report-that-is-in-no-way-a-portfolio-even-though-it-very-much-looks-like-a-portfolio-sounds-like-a-portfolio-walks-like-a-portfolio. The whole process was incredibly frustrating. And when I have needed assistance - finding a form, paying the $100 per year (gone up in 5 years by $20...) for the privilege of turning up to work every day - I have received nothing but rudeness and contempt from the 'ladies' on the other end of the line.
Now I am fine with paying a fee to a professional organisation in order to raise the standards of my chosen career to a profession. I am fine with jumping through hoops, and being accountable, and ticking boxes. It is all incredibly tedious, but if this is what needs to be done to turn teaching into a profession, then so be it. Of course, it stands to reason that as a professional, I should also get the 6 figure salary and instant respect from the general public and mainstream media too.
The whole process is so easily corruptible too. By ticking boxes and submitting a not-portfolio, I have proven that I am good at paperwork. Which is actually a total lie. I am shit at paperwork. However, now I have completed it, and it has been stamped on the back of each page, and signed in triplicate, I have now proven that I can teach to a level of "competent". Of course the hours of my life that the not-portfolio has taken away from the actual business of teaching - the marking, the planning, the welfare/pastoral stuff that I NEED to be doing in order to be successfully completing my To Do lists - seems to be a massive paradox. Should anybody wish to purchase my not-portfolio to save them the hours of hard work, I am happy to negotiate a fee. Of course, you may also need to bribe your supervising teacher to sign off that it is indeed your own work too, but that is your problem.
Gutless Wonders
If you want something, you ask for it. If you don't want something any more, then man the fuck up, and be honest.
Bullies & Thugs
Napoleon is alive and well, and living in West Bubblefuck.
Everybody has a job to do. Your job is important, no doubt. My job, also kind of important. I have no desire to make you feel like you are shit at your job, or that you need to be doing something different. I also have zero desire to hear your opinion on how I am doing my job. Got a suggestion, great. How about you don't frame it as an order from on high? How about you try to see that we're all working hard, and your little-man crankypants tantrums aren't helping things at all.
OK. Feel just a tad better after the rant. Vitriolic bile vented. Time to get on with my life.
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