Why I'd make an awful teacher

I'm in a race to finish critiquing a pile of manuscripts before the beer kicks in.

Um, if I'm critiquing your manuscript, I am TOTALLY joking.

Good thing I'm doing this for free.

So, Today, tell me about yourself. Were you good? Did you have a fine time?

Why, yes, Christy, all is well with me. Y tu?

Thank you for asking, Today. You are always such a gentleman. I am good, too.

Bah. So today I paid a man to run a Whole House Diagnostics on our furnace, which went well. (Preventive maintenance, FTW.) And I worked on a piece of flash fiction, which I wrote in first person as an experiment, and have stared at too long and am now wondering how weird it makes me sound. (Answer: pretty weird.)

And then the rest of the day was filled with other people's words. As I said, I am still making notes, and trying to be fair, objective, and insightful, which is like juggling knives, which I have done if you want to know the truth. I have also juggled torches and can do a passable job of three balls at a time. Four is tough.

(I am available for parties.)

It is 8pm and I still have about 50 pages to critique. But I am not complaining, please do not think that. I volunteered. This is what I want. But maybe, just maybe, it is time to switch to the hard stuff and see where the booze takes my feedback.

This is why I could never be a teacher. I would scrawl in red ink across essays things like, "Why no kangaroos?" and "I bet you think you're better than me" and "Repent sinner, the time is nigh!!!"