You might think that someone who keeps packing up her life into two suitcases and moving continents would be down with change. You'd be wrong. I am not actually all that fond of change, though I generally adapt to it pretty quickly. In particular, I can think of a new place as home in less time than it takes Emily to flush a toilet (which is longer than you might think, but still a short period of time.)
So, I arrive back in Korea and crash. I wake up at 6:30, feeling refreshed and up in time to actually pamper myself in the shower with random spa-type creams and cleansers, make breakfast and read a magazine before heading off to work. At this point, my last week was starting off on an incredibly high note.
But I work for Poly School, so I should have been prepared for the feeling to not last longer than, say, three seconds upon entering the building. They have changed the motherfucking schedules!!! Pardon my French there, but f@*k. It's my last damn week and I have three whole new classes, with tons of new students and I've lost a class that I had been teaching for the past 51 weeks. That's right, one bloody week short of a year. I have additional prep and new textbooks and just loads of extra crap to wade through.
Monday they changed the afternoon schedule, Tuesday the morning one. I thought I was safe for the evening, home and with no plans but dinner, interneting, maybe a little Tudors-watching to procrastinate from the pending packing disaster. And then I found out that the fuckers have changed Facebook.