About My Job, About The Landladies

A surprisingly high amount of people have written me asking why I don't like my job. Hmmm... (thoughtful chin rubbing). I preface this with a base statement: I enjoy teaching. I thoroughly enjoyed teaching my university students basic-level Spanish, I'm excited about the thought of crafting my own classes and reading lists and imparting upon these same university students insight into my favorite novels. Being a full-time teacher in Spain, however, means rote assignments, many more hours of classtime, and forays into the depths of English Grammar that I am ill-prepared for. Oh yeah, plus I hate English Grammar.

On top of the job dissatisfaction, last semester I felt like I was being taken away from Spain and implanted into a giant English vaccuum. I spoke no Spanish, contact with Madrid was at a minimum and reduced to "get up, go to class, go home, go to bed, get up, go to class..." The reduction of hours this semester has helped a bit, my rearranged schedule has helped a bit, and an instance to get into the Spanish stuff has helped a lot.

But with the good must always come the bad. Sneaky Old Landlady #1 has balked at allowing me to register my name at the apartment, something I need to do in order to finish my visa process. Gone are the sweet days when she masqueraded as dear Nanny and brought us Spanish sweeties. She informs us that she has to talk it over with her mother, Old Landlady #2, because they're thinking of selling the apartment. Out from under our feet! Indignance, confusion, and mild worries.