James Joyce Pitch Hits for Teacher Tim

Okay, concentrate. Concentrate. New blog here. Inspiration any minute. Something good about teaching ESL in Thailand. Something funny or inspirational or slightly dirty. Maybe something about teaching class naked . . . no, can’t do that – too many farang pervert stories in the news already. Why does that damn phone keep ringing? Is the air conditioning on? Sure doesn’t feel like it. Wish I had listened better to Captain Kangaroo – I think he had the Secret of the Universe; by now I could have a nice house in South Carolina, with some goats for milk, and a wife that wasn’t crazy and some kids that didn’t grow up like Frankenstein. I’ll just rest my head on my chest a moment here . . . nobody will notice, and if they do, so what? Everybody else in the office is playing solitaire on their computers or gabbing on their cell phones, so why can’t I take a little snooze? I work harder than anyone here and make less money, I’m sure of it. Boy, the electricity bill is going to be a killer this month – I’ve been using the ac too much. Gotta just get used to sweating while I sit around reading a book. Gotta go outside more, under the shade of that big jackfruit tree – cool breeze there, always. Or go swimming more often – but that beach is so horribly dirty. I should write a blog about finding a human femur from some botched cremation ceremony while I was swimming the other day. Gave it to Joom’s dog and Joom just about had a fit – now she says we’ve got a herd of ghosts at the house and she won’t be able to get a wink of sleep . . . How to Sleep Soundly in Thailand – that’s a good title for a blog, but what would it be about? Thais are really sound sleepers. When did I stop sleeping all night through? Musta been about 5 years ago, right after that prostate infection. Since then it’s every two hours up at night to pee. Probably some medicine I could take for that but why bother? I’m used to getting up all night now. I should just keep a plastic bucket by my bed, is what I should do. Gosh, I wonder if I can sneak out into the lobby and just stretch out on one of those blue leather chairs for about an hour . . . there’s nothing to do here. I’ll never think of anything to blog about. I’m through, washed up. I’ll never get a good idea to write about again. It’s punishment for my sins, for all those lies I’ve told to . . . to . . . well, who did I ever lie to? Only my ex-wife and maybe the IRS. Telling Whoppers to ESL Students – now that could work. All about pulling student’s legs – tell them the moon is made of green cheese. Step on a crack and you’ll break your mother’s back. John Wayne was King of America. Canned spinach makes you strong like Popeye. Obama was born in Kenya. Lee Harvey Oswald was hired by Lyndon Johnson. The stork brings babies. Silly Putty cures cancer. Nah, it’s a stupid idea – the stupidest idea of the 21st Century. There’s nothing to blog about anymore – nothing new under the sun. So saith King Solomon. Now there was a book . . . King Solomon’s Mines. What was that guy’s name? Haggard? Hagred? Somethin’. I should just up and go into the jungles there over by Burma and find me a ruby mine – collect a bucket full and sell ‘em in Bangkok and then retire to my fish pond and garden. What a life – I can practically do that right now, anyways . . . working for 8 hours a day is nothin’. Nothin’. Used to have to work 14 hour days w/the circus, and when I did radio in Iowa I was up at 4am and never in bed until midnight. And no weekends off. I don’t know why I didn’t have a heart attack. 8 hours is nothin’. I’m already on vacation, retired. So why am I worried about this crummy blog? So what if I don’t get one written today? Somebody gonna shoot me? I do a lot for this place and don’t get any recognition . . . so I’ll just get on that blue horse and gallop off into the castle by the dragon cave and drink root beer floats with Tinkerbelle – hey! Who put ice in my root beer float? Aw, man – that’s a Thailand thing they do at Dairy Queen . . . whoof! . . . wow, I was asleep at my desk. Okay, no more foolin’ around. Gotta write a killer blog here . . . must be somethin’ I can waste 800 words on . . .