So for the first class of 2012, the “ice breaker” on the teaching module (not designed by myself) consisted of students introducing themselves, followed by a sentence about their “roots” (where they’re from), their “routes” (where they want to go: surprisingly, no one said “anywhere but here”), and one adjective to describe themselves.

I’m glad no one was impertinent enough to suggest that I do the same, because the only adjective I could think of to describe this doctor is impatient. Or rather, IMPATIENT. I guess that isn’t the best quality with which to introduce yourself to 40 students who you have to spend four hours a week with for the next twelve weeks. Against their wills, I might add.

Look, sometimes I think it’s entirely justified. Like when a waitron takes f.o.r.e.v.e.r. to bring the bill, or worse, that second drink. Or when some eedjut driver is meandering on the road, or pulls over without indicating, all while talking on their eedjut cellphone. And let’s not talk about those meanderthals that populate our malls (meanderthal citation: Philosophe, sometime in the twentieth century)

But all in all, it’s probably not a good way to live life, especially since it means I frequently forget to take pleasure in whatever I’m doing simply because I like the idea of being done with it (cue writing, swimming, teaching etc). I was reminded of this on the bus ride home from campus, where people like me (impatient to get home) have to sit and watch students just chillaxing, chatting on their phones about where to hook up on Long Street, sometimes two of them in some banter which you just know hasn’t yet reached the point where they get to touch each other, but that that’s all they’re really thinking about. There were several examples of this latter scenario, which reminded me of that lovely courting game, by definition impatient, but in execution a drawn-out, frustrating, exciting game of patience and plotting. At least the best versions of this game are.

Ah yes, those delicious, excruciating days of waiting to see the android of your eye again. How pleasant to think of it, to imagine scenarios, the first kiss…

I do miss those days. But I wouldn’t go back even if I could. Not even if the Doctor himself offered me a trip back in time. Imagine knowing how my life was going to turn out and being stuck in that “what if” phase. I reckon that would be worse than trying to navigate through Canal Walk on payday. But there’s probably a better chance that the Philosophe will be inclined stick it out for the lifetime he promised if I can manage to be a little less

and just a bit more

Provided, of course, that being patient doesn’t make me blue in the face.