I have a problem. I talk too quickly.

I mean, really quickly. Supersonic, almost, which is the problem. People often can't understand a blessed word I say, especially as, in addition to speaking quickly, I tend to slur my words a bit, and I don't speak very loudly at all.

Put it all together, and it's a wonder I manage to function at all in the "real world."

As far as the actual mechanics of English went, I didn't do too badly. I had a bit of trouble at first, especially when it came to helping with grammatical problems, but I started getting the hang of it as the semester came to a close. And, when it came to structural issues, I'd match myself with just about anyone, as that's my strongest area.

But as far as being understood went...

Let's put it this way. Any student missing two sessions was automatically dropped, to make way for others. A dropout rate of 30% is considered to be about normal, factoring in random chance and stuff. This past semester, the dropout rate for the eleven tutors working there ranged from 9% to 88%. Guess who the 88% was?

That's right. My students were dropping like flies last semester, and the prevailing theory is that it's because they couldn't follow what I was saying.

To make a long story short, I went back there today on the chance that I could still work there a bit this semester. I knew that anything approaching full-time would be out of the question, but I'd hoped that maybe an hour a week, just to keep a hand in, and get more practice, would be possible.

Nothing doing. It's nothing personal, but I'm bad for business.

Sigh.

So I went down to Payroll, only to discover that I had left my college ID at home by mistake. Oops.

So I went down to the college paper, where I puttered around my section for a bit, laying out most of it, and mulling over possible ideas for this week's column. And talking to our newly-appointed News Editor, on sundry topics relating to the paper in general, and articles in our respective sections.

And then I spoke to a former professor for a bit (the one whose book I'm proofreading. Perhaps I should come up with a pseudonym. Or maybe just get permission to use his name -- but that would involve telling him about this journal, and while he's not online, I doubt he'd keep it to himself. Hmmmm. Decisions, decisions...), bewailing my inability to hang onto a job, and getting a few decent suggestions in return.

And then I left.

But then I started heading towards the bus stop, and realized that I really didn't want to just now. I wanted to go home. I wanted to get some food (I hadn't quite gotten around to eating yet), and go home, and eat it, and perhaps cry a bit over my overall incompetence and being a failure as a tutor, and then update this journal, and go to sleep.

So that's what I'm in the middle of doing. I'm about halfway through the program; I've gotten the food, eaten it, and had a mug of Stash Chai Spice, after which I feel a little better, but I'm willing to pull out the Les Miserables soundtrack to facilitate my other aims.

The only problem is that I need to read the General Prologue to Canterbury Tales tonight, so I can write a short paper on it in time for class tomorrow. I'd planned to do that on the train to and from the movie. There's too much to distract me from it at home. Oh, well. I'll just have to force myself, I guess.