11 to go and a mouthful.

11 lessons to go.  44 hours. 2640 minutes. 158400 seconds. And if we’re lucky, only 1 suicide.

Not since Advanced Maths have I ever struggled so much with a subject,. After 4 lessons I can now talk about myself, my family, country; I can order food and drink and can ask directions. But along the linguistic road of education, I tripped over the pothole of the differing cases, getting lost in the der, dies, das, kommst, müssen, möchten massacre that seems to make sense to everyone but one nationality-confused, language troubled lump. The class has since moved on and I’m struggling, which has caused me to lose confidence in the construction of sentences, formation of questions and blurting of swear words. Each lesson is now one low key panic attack.

However, sticking with it is the plan. Spend the evenings learning the basics so I can hopefully keep up with the more advanced aspects during the day. The temptation to drop out and just learn at my own pace is burning away, but I clearly need to do this, unless I want a repeat of five minutes ago… Where I essentially poured acid into my mouth without realising that it was concentrated mouthwash, 2 drops of which are to be applied to a glass of water.

Mind you, even if I spoke the language, this would’ve probably happened anyway.

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