Personal Intro

When I was a teacher, I loved the job, but loathed the profession. The job, impossible to do without loving it, the profession, impossible to love for its brokenness, loathsome were its contradictions. Neither, then, to love nor to loathe, but to strive for lovelessness, for dispassion, for contradictions of the mind, not the heart—save the heart for its own endeavors. Thus, to prove Camus neither right nor wrong, but to bathe my labor in cynical acid, to be not Hamlet (nor was meant to be), but to do, and that alone I want—something I can do.