Which Century Is It?

Just when I thought I'd exorcised the zombie from one of my classes, it's back.

Ingredients for supper last night

I sat there today and, to speed the story up, I'd just said to them, "Yeah, I know, this isn't the most exciting of topics - apartments and houses and rooms and gadgets in apartments and houses - and believe me, I'd much rather be thinking about sailing as far away as possible from your miserable faces, BUT, this is high school and this is what we have to do, which is study" .

One kid then whispered to her friend,
'She's crazy!' to which I replied,
' I heard that and you can bet I am crazy! You think it's inspiring to sit here in a class full of students who would rather have my class once a week than twice a week or not at all, when a similar class outside of school costs a minimum of $60 an hour, when your peers in the rest of Asia are gobbling English up like there's no tomollow, and here you are, treating this classtime like it was the next holocaust, like you've been wronged to have to study an international language, yeah, you're right, I am going crazy, you betcha I'm going crazy.'

I used to be able to look at this kind of shrine with no sense of guilt. Not anymore.

I then told them how happy I'd been last week, when they had appeared to be cured of this fear and loathing of all things English, and mused that their mood swings could have something to do with the moon, and that I would start researching their class mood alongside how full or not full the moon was.

And so on.
I tell ya, I hope these kids never get to experience the joy I felt when I paired a Rice Ball with a Chu Hai the other day. They don't deserve to!
They can go stew in their unadulturated inarizushis!