~ where cinders lie ~

Soap broth in February

Slowly, I boil in the main hall of one of the schools I work at. My post as Head of Department of Physics requires sitting perfectly still for one hundred and sixty minutes a week in a visible spot, lest the urchins miss you in the crowd of other adults they do not (cannot) recognize. It is *amazing* for the glutes, and the pay is good. Bless strong unions and all that.

This morning was spent with the first eighty minutes of that weekly ordeal. When you get the H. o D. position they ask you to decide when you want to give extra classes. Strung by a chaotic schedule, typical of teachers short on experience or luck, I chose the same day with a break in the middle. Once the free bus kicks in on May, it only makes sense to go home, eat, rest, and go back again( allowed by not paying for transport). For now it costs about a thousand pesos a trip, but I rather pay it anyways. I slowly boil, and the fans could never be enough for a room this big, this many people radiating heat and enthusiasm in roughly equal measure.

Ever since I was a little toad, I had a creeping suspicion that I would end up a teacher or academic of some kind. The earlier version of this drafted future also included a huskie, being single or in 'something' with my best friend, maybe adopting, a very serious dressing code that inspires respect and admiration, and of course a Ph. D. in something very smart. It is impressive still how much of that translated into my actual life with not much input on my own: no huskie but a foreign (and technically stolen) tuxedo cat named by a drunkard after the horse of Swedish darling Pippy Longstocking. I *am* in 'something' with my best friend, that being marriage. I did adopt my nephew, whom I love dearly. I do wear shit that came out of Vriska Serket's closet, so that's a no, and the plan was to get a college degree, but I decided not to, at least this decade. I can give classes with my highschool tech degree. Of course I ate up all the pedagogy expected of my position and then some. Besides that, I'm a good performer, so classes run smoothly.

I boil. It's 37 degrees Celcius outside. No humidity though, so that's a plus. It does feel hotter than previous years, though. People move, do things. It is business as usual. Despite the horrors, we persist, as the anonymous post recites. The horrors feel very far, here, and very mundane. Most people bother with paying rent that goes up faster than their paycheck, surely leading to a terminal accumulation by the renter conglomerate that can end in many different ways, many violent, one or two just. Mega-mining and oil extraction, endeavours that employ some of my extended family, rots the earth for pennies for every dollar. And yet the dollar's grip on the world by trade, whispers and guns grows steadily weaker, as its issuer finally (Finally!) reaps a bit of that sweet, sweet sowing. Our asshole in command (a plant of neocon capital) pales on national TV as he's exposed for corruption and insider trading in crypto. He goes to Davos to address the woke, and the woke marches home, millions at a time, to address him. There is pepper in the air, so to speak. People boil, on their streets, in their homes.

And I boil, too! A warm cup of toad by now. And the day isn't over. My next hour or so will be spent presiding over Technical Drawing exams. Man, that school has issues. They believe themselves to be a military academy, all that talk of meritocracy, the "we are the *actual* future of the country". It rings rotten, and very fash adjacent. But I'll stay, and keep an eye on them. Be a thorn in their worn boots. I must be the gayest thing in that fine establishment, so work is aplenty.

Or it would be, were I not reduced to a toad miso soup. A shame.

Sip carefully, I'm spicy.