I always go to farming when I can. I always make a failure of it, and then I have to go to teaching. I'm a good teacher but it doesn't allow me time to write. I must either teach or write: can't do both together. But I have to live.
This just about sums up my situation, except that I've never been a committed-enough farmer to get to the point of failing at it. Unexpectedly I had a job interview the other day, for a full-time teaching job that I didn't get. The committee was perfectly right not to offer me this job, and I was so incredibly relieved that I didn't find myself in the position of having to accept it. Nonetheless I spent most of yesterday castigating myself. Why can't I be the sort of person who is perfect for this job? I am, after all, a good teacher, in love with my subject, fond of kids and patient with them, competent at discipline, a quick learner, energetic, idealistic, yet also pragmatic. Why, despite these advantages, is it clear to all the world, including myself, that I am entirely unsuited for real work? Argh.