The Fast & the Furious

What were those fateful words?

I may actually not want to kill anyone by month's end. I just might make it through the next four weeks without the words I fucking hate Ramadan passing my lips.

And how did I end those fateful words?

(although I highly doubt it).

And when did I write those fateful words?

Six days ago.

So, Ramadan is one-week old and yes, I fucking hate Ramadan. There, I've said it. And If I'm going to be brutally honest, those dreaded words passed my lips several days ago.

Seven days into the holiest month of the Islamic calendar and I want to kill every one of my students who is fasting with my bare hands and a pair of salad tongs. Just the thought of facing another three weeks of pious devout listless cranky somnolent bitching (I'm tired, I'm hot, I'm cold, I'm thirsty, I'm, I'm, I'm ...) zombies sets my teeth on edge. Students are falling asleep in class, forgetting to bring pens, pencils, books and paper, and the likelihood of getting them to actually do anything that tests their mental ability (answer the question 'how are you?' with more than a grunt) and physical prowess (open a book) is hovering around (i.e., below) nil. For Christ's sake, offer it up to God - isn't that the whole point?

Am I exaggerating? Last night, thirty minutes before sunset, one of my adult students put his head down on his desk and went to sleep. Personally, I voted for not waking him up for his dinner break at 7:50. Apparently my other students thought I was joking.

That I haven't stood up on a chair in the middle of the room and screamed why the fuck did you sign up for classes during Ramadan?!! at the top of my lungs is a testament to my deeply ingrained if not innate sensitivity for those of God's suffering creatures who sacrifice themselves for their beliefs. And most of my students are clinically brain dead now anyway and wouldn't be able to register the woman standing on the chair.

And yes, I admit that I'm getting a tad tetchy too. That 3 a.m. Wake-Up Call to Allah's All-You-Can-Eat Breakfast Buffet followed an hour and three-quarters later by thunderous cannon fire and the extendo-mix of the pre-dawn call to prayer - signalling both the beginning of the day's fast and the official end to my night's sleep - is all wearing a bit thin.

So this is what I know:

I have developed a huge and warm & fuzzy respect for those of my students whom I see smoking and having a coffee during break. Thank you. Thank you for nourishing your body with life-giving nutrients like sugar and caffeine and nicotine. I cannot overstate my appreciation. Have you caught on to the fact that I'm only teaching to you? Don't worry - my other students (those who were once your colleagues) won't have noticed anything because their brainwaves have dipped well below 5 Hertz cycles per second, so they're processing absolutely nothing these days. We'll meet them again toward the end of September.

I also know that I am quickly becoming a Tylenol PM addict since, in my pea-sized brain, drugging myself at 11:30 somehow guarantees me an uninterrupted sleep. Except that it doesn't because I am still roused by that 3 a.m. Wake-Up Call to Allah's All-You-Can-Eat Breakfast Buffet followed an hour and three-quarters later by thunderous cannon fire and the extendo-mix of the pre-dawn call to prayer - signalling both the beginning of the day's fast and the official end to my night's sleep.

So just to recap: I fucking hate Ramadan.