Hi guys,
long time no see. We have April 21, 2024 and I finally feel eager to write again. Before I started writing I did myself a favor and deleted all posts from the past that turned out to be bullshit. Fortunately, as the stats on my profile show, no one read that BS in the first place. What's left is my post series "It's not supposed to hurt" that I want to continue at least until shit gets book length. Those posts are far from scientific, but they're at least comprehensible throughout the read; The shrinks who truly want to help me will love it and my friends who take their time to read my posts will understand me even more than they already do. Motivation and reason enough to continue writing. If no one will read my work, my real friends will; so it's worth the effort. Anyway...
To start with, I gave up weed entirely. Eventually I figured for myself that the drug wouldn't help people like me in the long run and it no longer made sense talking myself into believing that I could use weed like on-demand medicines, cuz in order to mitigate my depressions I would permanently have to try new strains, contact many dealers on the black market and accept many side effects that would make my illness even worse. Doctors constantly asked me to quit smoking weed and I finally followed their advise. I briefly amended past posts in order not to give you the wrong ideas about weed and linked a few videos below that helped me personally to understand why I obviously jumped to wrong conclusions when I experimented with the drug. If you are a regular (for whatever reason), make sure to check out the links, just to be up-to-date about your shrine. Can't hurt.
The story I am about to tell you lies about 12 years in the past. Back then I used to study at a department for translation studies in my home town where I'd be trained to become a decent English and Spanish translator. But let me type down a little prequel first...
I already tried out comparable studies in the same department about 23 years ago, right after getting my permission to study, when I finished AHS Gymnasium (more or less High School and College prep in the US or maybe Comprehensive Schools on the island). Back then (22 years ago), my Sehr Gut ("Excellent", A) at the final exam in AHS Gymnasium ("Excellent", A) served as a qualification for STEOP classes (Entry and orientation phase) at the translation department. In this period of my life,... around the millenium year, I started lazy, probably wasn't ready for studying yet, and on top of that, didn't have the money, didn't yet realize how much I love language learning, then tried studying philosophy instead until I eventually decided to get a job in order to get other problems in my life sorted out. It would take me about a decade until I get another chance to study languages.
But first things first. In 2002, my father died. My father's death was an event that I appeared to accept easier than anyone else in my family. It later turned out that it got me the most and years would pass by until I started mourning and crying. I chose quite a different path when handling such losses and I would soon be misunderstood in my family since I chose the same approach when many of my relatives died the following years. "It's your grandmother's funeral and you are not crying, instead smiling as if you won the lottery. What is wrong with you? You didn't love your grandmother! It played into your hands that she died! You brought only problems into your grandmother's house and you're partially responsible that she's dead."... these things my anti-semite pseudo grandfather would say at a family meeting where we had to discuss who inherits what; my father didn't leave last will and testament (heart-attack by the age of 44).
By the way, just to get a few corpses out of the cellar (as we say in our country), the reason why I smiled at my grandmother's funeral, is, cuz I thought about the good times we had...
...I mourn for those who never knew you...
by Killswitch Engage
from the album "The End of Heartache" (2004)
I remember leaving that particular family meeting totally perplexed; didn't want any money from those jerks in the first place. It wouldn't have solved the problems that I had at the time. But my loving mother and sister thought different and took me to court against other not necessarily related, so-called family members, in order to get me a fair share of what's left of the corpses. Many years later we had things sorted out and I suddenly had about fifty thousand bucks on my account--fifty thousand euros to change my so far fairly damaged life. I'm sure my father would have wanted me to spend it on something that makes me happy, so I decided to sell my cozy red Clio and from then on drove my bicycle to the university until I got my bachelors degree.
Okay, almost back to the main story. We're getting there...
I suddenly felt rich and could afford the studies that I always wanted to soak up. When I proudly came back to the department in 2010, the department changed a few rules and my English grade from ten years ago would no longer serve as qualification for the STEOP classes. They now had entrance exams for every language that I wanted to study. In my case, English and Spanish. I used to think that my English remained "excellent" throughout the years and before the exam I spent two years in Spanish classes for children in arts school. In other words, I was confident that I would pass both exams immediately.... but, of course, I failed twice. Welcome to reality, Michael.
The next entrance exams would be scheduled in the beginning of the next semester and since I failed miserably the first time I tried, I wanted to be properly prepared the next time I enter the dragon's cave. But to be honest, I still had no clue how to prepare best. The first problem was that I had to finance life during my wait for the second chance. I mean, as I've told you, I had fifty thousand bucks on my account. But in perspective, that's not much, considering that I would need money for at least three years cost of living. If I wanted to study full time--and I'll later explain why I had to--there would be no further income in the meantime; and an average working-class-hero in Austria needs at least twenty thousand euros per year just to make ends meet, due to high rent costs (among other things). So, in order not to lose too much money while waiting for the exam, I felt obliged to work my ass off at Frank Stronach's Magna Steyr assembly line.
The job at Franky's wasn't satisfying at all; the opposite was the case; I hated it. Low wages for unexperienced newcomers in the business, hardly any bonuses for monotonous sometimes aching hard work while constantly on the clock, two or three five-minutes breaks to pee in a ten-hour working day, one mean guy among my colleagues that I couldn't get rid off, and worst, shift work that would make me lose my weekends--since I needed to manage my sleeping periods throughout the weekend in order to remain fit in the right cycle of shifts the following work week. I'd rather I had done a different job these eventually 18 months, but at the time I had no valuable qualifications or degrees earned that would bring about better perspectives or at least a humane full-time job. Of those there still appear to be only a few if you haven't managed to finish an apprenticeship or the like. Also, I'd rather I had done a different job these eventually 18 months, where I'd spend my well-deserved weekends going out, dancing in metal bars and in between pop metal chics in the toilets, like smart, educated fuckers in my age used to do. But I was neither smart nor educated.
The reason why I didn't call in sick a single time during that useless phase of my life is cuz there were two motivators that drove me. The first motivator was my wish to study languages--good choice. The second trigger was what I permanently got to hear and read--in a nutshell, "Geht's der Wirtschaft gut, geht's uns allen gut." Keep that bullshit and the like stuck in your skull instead of a real brain and you may never understand what drives poor people to do shitty work in the first place. But don't get me wrong. There are millions of jobs out there that are hard, that have to be done and that anyone eventually has to perform. Producing cars is none of them. However, if your working life is hard you should at least have something else in your life that gives you reason to live, such as a loving partner that eases your pain by hugging you, kissing you, talking to you, whispering kind words into your ears, you name it.
After three trials in a row I had finally managed to pass both the English and Spanish exam at the department. When I soon found out that even my studies would be hard (cuz of several other, more rewarding reasons), I had no such treasures like a loving partner in advance; so I made them up. I used my precious fantasies to escape reality.
And that brings us to the story that I actually wanted to talk about. Sorry for the delay. As I said, we're almost there.
The second problem that I had when I tried to prepare for the exams was that I had comparatively no time. I had a few hours every weekend that I used for reading. So in this mentioned 18 months I read one book. "Angels and Demons" by Dan Brown. Nice stuff, but I didn't like the ending. Anyway, that was it. That was my preparation for the English exam; and to this day, I still have no idea how I got the positive grade. For the Spanish exam I had invited a Spanish student who studied master classes in the same department. I found her advertisement for Spanish tutorials glued to the department's pinboard and gave her a ring.
She soon visited me in my studio on a hot summer evening. She had about 160 centimeters in height, wore her dark-brown hair long, and the tight curry-colored clothes she wore made her nipples [above her almost invisible breasts] visible and showed almost everything I wanted to know about her sweet, tiny, apple-shaped ass. The moment I saw her I felt like drawing her into my cave and make brutal anal sex with her all day, or at least the usual 25 seconds. Anyway, instead I offered her a cup of tea and gave her some compliments about the color of her dress; she had a beautiful smile. She then took out her books and taught me everything I needed to know in order to do a good job on the exam. In fact, she taught the entire grammar stuff so well, I realized that it would take me a great deal of time and work to reach her level of knowledge in Spanish learning. I therefore also assumed that I was out of her league and thought that guys like me wouldn't get laid by such attractive and smart women--and of those we had many at the department...
...although they hardly ever dressed as hot as my Spanish tutor.
When I started going to classes, as I mentioned, about 12 years ago, there sat about 80 to 90 percent women in the class room. The rest were college boys, most of them about ten years younger than me. But all of us testosterone producers sooner or later found a way how to not get an erection during class time. I assume, when I say "we", that we just focused on our actual studies and if we wanted to stare at people, we stared at our teachers. They, just like the younger student chics, most of the time wore wide jumpers, fancy looking, long skirts, buns that made them look like hobos and--most effective--they didn't wear make-up. When younger female teachers came to class early in the morning they presented faces that reminded me of krampus masks rather than shiny doll faces that average pervs like me know from Naughty America doctor and massage porn. So, the outer appearance most women created helped a lot to not get randy throughout the classes.
But then she entered the class room...
When you have a crush on your English teacher (1/2)
She, let's name her Wacholder, cuz just calling her by her real name gives me a boner, so let's call her Wacholder,... she was different. Yes, she adapted to the look-like-shit dress code of the others, but she appeared cute and fantastic anyway. I couldn't help but falling in love with her from the first moment I saw her (💖). Unlike me, she had a very silent but sweet voice; like Minnie Mouse... and she looked like a daisy. Her bun upon her head looked stupid, I admit. But not wearing make-up didn't make her look less attractive. I could imagine waking up next to her without screaming hysterically or calling the police due to illegal eyesore provocation. No,.. If she was my girl, I would want to kiss her good morning every morning no matter what facial condition she conjured up with her hangovers...
She taught first semester English and culture classes. That is a combination of advanced grammar lectures, writing skills, learning words, pronunciation and basic history of predominantly English-speaking cultures--in her case, since she's American with Irish roots, US-American and a bit of Irish history; quite interesting.
Wacholder's lectures/courses were really great. In the beginning of my studies I very often couldn't follow lectures of her English-speaking male colleague, let's name him Crank, who, unlike Wacholder, used thousands of online sources to teach basic stuff about the same topics Wacholder taught. Crank's courses brought about too much input for people like me, who hadn't studied in ages. Wacholder's lectures/courses on the other hand were visibly organized step-by-step, using only few sources to make lessons clear. I mean, I learned much more in Crank's classes than in all the other classes combined, but most of the stuff I managed to understand from his classes were extracurricular issues that wouldn't help me pass his exams--the so-called progress checks. When I first came to Wacholder's classes in the second year of my studies, I soon was positive that I would get a positive grade by the end of the semester. I was wrong, but let me continue next time.
Til then, as we say in my home village, have a nice kukuruz work week.
Yours,
Kulla 👅
Media influence:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0m44PPsCc8
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j_5aFAsnsTE&t=1086s
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