Bloodless stones

( Hope I'm not interupting the blogging timetable for posting this)

I just had my last class of the week. Yay-last class of the week! It`s Friday, no school for two days. Isn`t that wonderful?
So because I`m brimming with the gaiety that no other afternoon of the week knows, I decide that we`ll let`s enjoy an English game with my thirty-seven third years.
So, the pile of reaons to be grateful looks something like this: Firstly, We have the Friday feeling. On top of the Friday glee, is some of the teacher`s anticipation of her trip this weekend to Osaka. Due North of that you`ll find balancing the stressfree learning that comes when one plays a game. Lastly, the bride-and-groom figureen of this towering ensemble, is the super bonus of Valentine`s day imminent arrival.
Us bitter, cynically-minded twentyanddolder somethings all know by now that Valentines day is a lorry load of stale moose tripe , but when you`re fifteen, and your hormones are trampolining throughout the bloody thoroughfares of your body, Valentines day is a fairly big deal. The recipient of your affection (infection? Mais NON! We`re all innocent in this here Japanese school) sits two desks away. Yes! and even though you`ve never ever spoken a word to him and he doesn`t really know what you actually look like because your face is nothing but a multitude of pus-filled craters, and your method of self-expression is considerably less effective than that of a dead dog, you know that he`s the one. You can convince yourself that upon receipt of your hand-made chocolates, he will envelope you in his spindly arms and do for you the greatest leaking washing machine impression, with his mouth covering an area of about eight centimetres squared, taking in the surrounding hinterlands of your chin, upperlip and cheeks.
So, in your pubescent mindset, you can convince yourself that this is the year and he is the boy, and it will end in tears of joy.

So, I head to class, and I`m all about the good humour. I launch the vocabulary building game. I am doing an elaborate demonstration of the meaning of “breaking someone`s heart”. In American terms, I`d be Oscar worthy. In Irish terms, I`d be acting the pure bollocks. I`m pretending to cry. Now I`m in convulsions as I stumble through the class. In truth inside I am actually crying. I am giving two thousand decibels of energy and there isn`t even a stir out of them. It`s a worrying thing in a class when you don`t even need to bark a “settle! ” every two minutes, and you find youself actually willing someone to speak, however irrevelently. When I stopped talking there was complete silence. I was lost in the silence until the crash of a pin as it met the floor, resonnated through the room and brought me back to reality. I could`ve been talking to a field of cabbages, asking them did they understand that they had to pair up , boy and girl, and write a list of words.
They weren`t even sniggering at me. I don`t think the words “God! She`s some prick!” even crossed their minds, because evidently such a journey was not worth the labour involved.
There was nothing.
There wasn`t even bad energy because it had upped and left for greener, more agressive pastures ages ago.
It was a forty-five minute long preview of solitary confinement. Probably more toxic than any of the old Chinese punishments which involve dripping taps and the like, because as least, when you`re all alone, and there`s a tap dripping you know that somewhere along the line someone must`ve turned it on.
Here in this room, the tap would`ve been a life line. You`ve have been assured of the next sound at least.
But alas, the tap was neigh. Instead were a crowd of 3-d cardboard cutouts whose verbal washers were new and unrelenting and not daring to risk a drop.

The game was a flop. They drained me of my will to live, almost. If I see them again this term I will surely be posting a Will on here.

Perhaps I shoudl think about changing jobs. Look for some livlier students.
If anyone hears of a job going in a juvenile detention centre do let me know.