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The more I do this, the more I want to do this, the more I question why it is that I don't. Jac asked me last night what the problem was. Why wasn't I writing? Was there something wrong?

Here is my day when I get a day of casual teaching:
1) Wake at, or as close as possible to, 6am.
I slip out of bed - the mattress is on the floor because the bed broke months ago and we can't afford to get a new one and our floors are polished wood and every day I nearly fall over - and stumble to the kettle for my first of far too many coffees. Usually I then go to the computer to check random news websites to check to see if anything major has been destroyed and I missed it - the 9/11 coverage was incredible and I don't want to miss another one. The kettle pops and I go make myself some brown in the mug I used the night before.

2) Get a call from someone asking if I want to work today.
If I'm lucky I don't get a call until about 7am because that usually means I'm at a local school. Of course I say yes. We can't afford a bed. One morning I got a call at 8am to get to Druitt by 8.40am - even if I was completely ready to go it would've taken me at least an hour and a half to get there. Had to say no and don't regret it.

3) Begins the anguish.
If I'm incredibly lucky I get a call a few days before. However all this does is begin the anguish sooner. Anguish because I constantly turn the thought over in my head that this is a shit profession, that you'd have to be mad to do it, that I'm no good at it anyway, that I've got by so far on luck, that I'm so good at lying to myself that I can convince others who seem to offer me these ludicrous positions that I'm far too immature and irresponsible for.
At the start of 2008 I had a position lined up at a semi-rural school halfway between larger towns (but still within the Sydney Basin). I lasted two weeks, spending four days at the school. Granted, it was teaching Geography and History to little shits who couldn't give a shit even more than I couldn't give a shit about the subjects. I mentally broke down on the way to work one day and had to spend 10 minutes crying on the side of the road because I just didn't want to do it.
Term 2 2008 saw me get a temporary position of at least a term teaching English at one of the better schools in South West Sydney. Six weeks.
End of Term 3 I was offered the first two weeks at a different SWS school teaching IA. I said no and got a retail job.

4) Have breakfast, get ready and go to school.
No more coffee for me if I'm going to school. Last thing I want is the caffeine going through mid-lesson. Clothes are casual-relaxed. Private school teachers wear ties and suits every day. Not sure if it's worth it.

5) This is a whole different post - and one that would take far more than 35 minutes.
Suffice to say that for every good class you'll have two shit ones. Classes that require you to stop being the person you want to be and start being a fucking hard-arse ogre that won't take shit from any little blighter and if I have to spend forty minutes shouting at you then FUCK YOU I WILL. It's so draining. An excellent day is easily and swiftly ruined by the last period of the day.

6) I come home.
Exhausted. Every casual day is exhausting. I no longer come home and crash for three hours on the lounge. Now I just sit in my chair, staring at the computer screen, wondering what the fuck I'm going to do with my life.

Wondering if any job will satisfy me.

Knowing that I have to get one to support my small family.

But hating every option.