Once, when I was young and immortal, I was cruel and immoral. I walked an endless highway. I was infatuated with what I was capable of doing. It did not bother me to see someone with tears. Well, it didn't bother me much.
When I was green, I laughed more of the time and saw humor in misfortune because I did not know enough to realize one day misfortune would visit me.
When I erred I denied it. When I succeeded, I gloated. I became bloated with my own complacency. I carried the laurel wreath long after it had dried and withered and revisited my past glory as if it were something fresh and new. I fully expected those around me awaited something from me which was fresh and new and I tried to pass off the stale remnants as such. No one ever accused me of begging for compliments, though if they had, it might have awakened me.
Once, when I was sleeping safely in the past, my tomorrows lacked the urgency I feel in them today.
When tomorrows were countless, I thought I would always have my friends and that I would have acquaintances for almost as long. Now the future feels like a finite possibility and probability lessens. There are days I walk alone.
When the days began to grow shorter, my attention was drawn to jesting matters. I played a waiting game, for there was no necessity to rush to checkmate. There were options aplenty and if none appealed there was the option to create more, a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, if you will, but self-fulfillment is a well bound to run dry. The days grew shorter and now I feel the loss of hours, not merely moments. The scales measuring the past against the future have been tipped in favor of the former.
Once, when I did not state these inevitabilities, I believed they could be staved. Now, no longer young, I walk the road I paved.
Showing posts with label Commentary. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Commentary. Show all posts
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Before I Was Born
Before I was born, the world was a vastly different place. This is not to say my being born changed it, but I was born right around the mid-point of the twentieth century and the second half of that century was more technologically advanced than any era in history up until then.
I was born into the atomic age. The era of cold war and computers, television and space exploration, teenagers as a phenomenon and rock and roll, gadgetry and equal rights and terrorism and everyone capable of having their fifteen minutes of fame; all of these exploded on the scene during that period and before I was born many of these were considered in the realm of science fiction and imagination. The if-onlies of the first half of the century became yesterday's news by the end of the second millennium.
Before I was born, people worked hard just to break even and people worked at careers and not too long before I was born an American president assured everyone that if they worked for most of their lives, when they got to their golden years they could enjoy a leisure that would make the time truly feel golden, so that the world I was born into held a promise and possibility most of my ancestors could not count on. By the end of the century that assurance was dwindling, but now people are being urged to provide the promise for themselves and being given leverage to do so.
That old world, which did not feel like an old world to the people around when I was born, is now historical in tone. Before I was born, for the most part, the recording of the times was done on film of black and white. Two great wars that involved most of the world were fought in the first half of the twentieth century. All the memories of the first are in black and white and much of the second is also.
We landed on the moon in 1969 and sent machinery much further into space later on, but it must be remembered man only learned how to fly heavier than air machinery in the beginning of the century. Automobiles which are a ubiquitous sight only came about in the 1900s. The Twentieth Century probably witnessed about a third of the inventions and achievements we take for granted in our daily lives. I was born at the mid-point and the acceleration of progress since that point is almost incredible. Things that became part of the human landscape in the first half of the century were phenomenal and many past great minds foresaw their coming, but if seers were able to describe in exact detail what has come about since my birth, they might have been burned as witches. Who could have predicted something like a pocket computer to wirelessly transmit messages, in a past century, or could even offer a reason for the need to invent such an object?
Before I was born, a millionaire was a rare bird and by dint of his achievement became a historical personage. Today they are "a dime a dozen."
When I sit and daydream, I think I would have liked to be living in the world that existed before I was born. Since that time we have come closer to the possibility of actually going back there. We have cloned animals and may soon clone humans, now if we can conquer the time travel problem that would be the neatest trick of all.
I was born into the atomic age. The era of cold war and computers, television and space exploration, teenagers as a phenomenon and rock and roll, gadgetry and equal rights and terrorism and everyone capable of having their fifteen minutes of fame; all of these exploded on the scene during that period and before I was born many of these were considered in the realm of science fiction and imagination. The if-onlies of the first half of the century became yesterday's news by the end of the second millennium.
Before I was born, people worked hard just to break even and people worked at careers and not too long before I was born an American president assured everyone that if they worked for most of their lives, when they got to their golden years they could enjoy a leisure that would make the time truly feel golden, so that the world I was born into held a promise and possibility most of my ancestors could not count on. By the end of the century that assurance was dwindling, but now people are being urged to provide the promise for themselves and being given leverage to do so.
That old world, which did not feel like an old world to the people around when I was born, is now historical in tone. Before I was born, for the most part, the recording of the times was done on film of black and white. Two great wars that involved most of the world were fought in the first half of the twentieth century. All the memories of the first are in black and white and much of the second is also.
We landed on the moon in 1969 and sent machinery much further into space later on, but it must be remembered man only learned how to fly heavier than air machinery in the beginning of the century. Automobiles which are a ubiquitous sight only came about in the 1900s. The Twentieth Century probably witnessed about a third of the inventions and achievements we take for granted in our daily lives. I was born at the mid-point and the acceleration of progress since that point is almost incredible. Things that became part of the human landscape in the first half of the century were phenomenal and many past great minds foresaw their coming, but if seers were able to describe in exact detail what has come about since my birth, they might have been burned as witches. Who could have predicted something like a pocket computer to wirelessly transmit messages, in a past century, or could even offer a reason for the need to invent such an object?
Before I was born, a millionaire was a rare bird and by dint of his achievement became a historical personage. Today they are "a dime a dozen."
When I sit and daydream, I think I would have liked to be living in the world that existed before I was born. Since that time we have come closer to the possibility of actually going back there. We have cloned animals and may soon clone humans, now if we can conquer the time travel problem that would be the neatest trick of all.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
HP has me furious
All those complaints, and they do little or nothing about making things right with their customers. Compaq always had a reputation for problems with their products, but they were also known to respond very quickly with solutions or replacements.
Ever since HP took over, they've been cutting corners and offering cheaper machines. What savings occur when you run into problems and are ignored by the company you trusted.
Things change, but not always for the better.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Chain
What else can go wrong? Or is this the turning point at mid-day?
Woke up a little late and soon discovered there was no water to shave or shower with. Attempting to turn on the "bomb", I learned it was not working.
Called in to the Coordinator to tell her I'd be late and she reminded me there were many last minute things to take care of before my trips this weekend to Tapachula and then to Monterrey, and this being the end of semester, these chores have an urgency to them. I said I'd try to get to work very soon, but knew I'd be somewhat late for having to look for a plumber.
Shaved and washed with a bucket of water directly from the cistern. There were gnat corpses floating in it and the bucket (the only one available) hadn't been used since housepainting, months ago, so it was a distasteful process, and not at all refreshing.
Friend Á drove us around looking for the plumber, and the third stop promised to be successful. Someone would be there in a little while. Á said he'd take me to school, and go back to take the plumber to the house, but first we'd have to stop and get money from an ATM to be able to pay for his services, and Á also needed some gas. Of course, the usually reliable cash machine in the Extra near the gas station was out of order today, so we turned round and headed back to the machine near the other Tec, which had a queue. Last option, head for the plaza and the ATMs beside the bank. At each of these stops he made, I noticed Á dutifully buckled his seatbelt.
Got the money, and back on the road toward school, now quite late.
This time the transit police were diverting traffic and pulling over the odd motorist for... not having seatbelts on, and wouldn't you know, the one time someone had forgotten to buckle up... Á got a summons for $200 (but actually for not carrying his papers which the transit guy asked for after stopping him for the seatbelt oversight).
Á laughed as if he couldn't care less, but there was an edge of something else in his laugh. He dropped me off at school and said he'd go back and take care of the plumber, who, he told me later, got angry for having to wait too long and left. Á hunted down another guy who said he'd come to the house.
Meanwhile, after arriving late and in a grouchy mood, something I said chased away a student who needed to take his final exam. The system would not accept changes necessary to a student's record in order to prevent her from missing her graduation. I couldn't locate a chart necessary to evaluate the final averages of a certain group, nor could I find the student whom I had sent running. I also had to make the arrangements about the trip. Should it be a zig-zag thing between the two destinations, or could some of the zag be cut out? I was advised I'd be flying up to my course directly after administering the exam rather than returning and flying out from here.
At about 3:30, I had resolved several of the items on my agenda, though the touchy system still required one and only one particular signature to authorize the change for the graduating student.
I called Á, who told me a plumber had fixed the bomb for a nominal charge and water was running again. However, while we were speaking, he told me water was running down the stairs. He'd overcompensated to fill the empty tank on the roof and had left the bomb running a little too long. The water overflowed and came out through the television cable vent, flooding the upstairs hallway.
I finished my cigarette (during the standard "Character's Reflective Delay") and returned to my office to get Rodrigo's signature. Servicios escolares says they will handle the rest of the changes.
So let's see... $350 for the plumber, $200 for the traffic summons, and water damage in the house. Although the school is paying a fortune for the trip, I am sure I'll be spending additional money there, but I think, with fingers crossed that the day from hell is drawing to a close. Would love to relax and do nothing this evening, but have to plan out the material for the teachers' summer Intermediate English course.
Woke up a little late and soon discovered there was no water to shave or shower with. Attempting to turn on the "bomb", I learned it was not working.
Called in to the Coordinator to tell her I'd be late and she reminded me there were many last minute things to take care of before my trips this weekend to Tapachula and then to Monterrey, and this being the end of semester, these chores have an urgency to them. I said I'd try to get to work very soon, but knew I'd be somewhat late for having to look for a plumber.
Shaved and washed with a bucket of water directly from the cistern. There were gnat corpses floating in it and the bucket (the only one available) hadn't been used since housepainting, months ago, so it was a distasteful process, and not at all refreshing.
Friend Á drove us around looking for the plumber, and the third stop promised to be successful. Someone would be there in a little while. Á said he'd take me to school, and go back to take the plumber to the house, but first we'd have to stop and get money from an ATM to be able to pay for his services, and Á also needed some gas. Of course, the usually reliable cash machine in the Extra near the gas station was out of order today, so we turned round and headed back to the machine near the other Tec, which had a queue. Last option, head for the plaza and the ATMs beside the bank. At each of these stops he made, I noticed Á dutifully buckled his seatbelt.
Got the money, and back on the road toward school, now quite late.
This time the transit police were diverting traffic and pulling over the odd motorist for... not having seatbelts on, and wouldn't you know, the one time someone had forgotten to buckle up... Á got a summons for $200 (but actually for not carrying his papers which the transit guy asked for after stopping him for the seatbelt oversight).
Á laughed as if he couldn't care less, but there was an edge of something else in his laugh. He dropped me off at school and said he'd go back and take care of the plumber, who, he told me later, got angry for having to wait too long and left. Á hunted down another guy who said he'd come to the house.
Meanwhile, after arriving late and in a grouchy mood, something I said chased away a student who needed to take his final exam. The system would not accept changes necessary to a student's record in order to prevent her from missing her graduation. I couldn't locate a chart necessary to evaluate the final averages of a certain group, nor could I find the student whom I had sent running. I also had to make the arrangements about the trip. Should it be a zig-zag thing between the two destinations, or could some of the zag be cut out? I was advised I'd be flying up to my course directly after administering the exam rather than returning and flying out from here.
At about 3:30, I had resolved several of the items on my agenda, though the touchy system still required one and only one particular signature to authorize the change for the graduating student.
I called Á, who told me a plumber had fixed the bomb for a nominal charge and water was running again. However, while we were speaking, he told me water was running down the stairs. He'd overcompensated to fill the empty tank on the roof and had left the bomb running a little too long. The water overflowed and came out through the television cable vent, flooding the upstairs hallway.
I finished my cigarette (during the standard "Character's Reflective Delay") and returned to my office to get Rodrigo's signature. Servicios escolares says they will handle the rest of the changes.
So let's see... $350 for the plumber, $200 for the traffic summons, and water damage in the house. Although the school is paying a fortune for the trip, I am sure I'll be spending additional money there, but I think, with fingers crossed that the day from hell is drawing to a close. Would love to relax and do nothing this evening, but have to plan out the material for the teachers' summer Intermediate English course.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Why Not?
Because it's not allowed.
Because it's not good for you.
Because your eyes will stay that way.
Because we didn't have that luxury in my day.
Because it isn't fair to the rest.
Because no one's ever done it.
Because it's too hard or too easy.
Because once you do it you won't want to stop.
Because in all likelihood you'll find it isn't what you'd imagined it to be, but by then it will be too late to undo it.
Because it's uncouth or uncool or it shows bad breeding, or too much in-breeding, or it's not being clever. In any case, it's just not done.
Because 'Y' is a crooked letter.
Go ask your mother, or conversely, go ask your father. If s/he says it's all right, then it's all right with me.
You'll understand when you're older.
Because you're not a kid anymore.
You just shouldn't.
No, really, you should.
I don't see why not.
Because it's not good for you.
Because your eyes will stay that way.
Because we didn't have that luxury in my day.
Because it isn't fair to the rest.
Because no one's ever done it.
Because it's too hard or too easy.
Because once you do it you won't want to stop.
Because in all likelihood you'll find it isn't what you'd imagined it to be, but by then it will be too late to undo it.
Because it's uncouth or uncool or it shows bad breeding, or too much in-breeding, or it's not being clever. In any case, it's just not done.
Because 'Y' is a crooked letter.
Go ask your mother, or conversely, go ask your father. If s/he says it's all right, then it's all right with me.
You'll understand when you're older.
Because you're not a kid anymore.
You just shouldn't.
No, really, you should.
I don't see why not.
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
One Day
One day is just like the next. It all averages out. The action is in the minutes.
Take a moment to relax. Have a cup of tea, or coffee if you prefer. Have a biscuit.
Call a friend.
Write in a diary. Don't lose any of those precious moments. Time has a way of eliding their significance.
One day everything will be right, or it may never be. One day never comes. It never happens. You can only concentrate on the moment. Maybe tomorrow you'll take care of it. It happened yesterday. Today's the day. Can you? Did it? Is it, really? The whole day? Or just in the space of an hour?
Have you ever planned and prepared a sumptuous meal? The shopping for it, especially if it contains exotic ingredients, could take a while. The cooking may take more than an hour or two or even longer. Maybe you'll share a nice bottle of wine with your spouse or whoever it is you plan to share this meal with.Oh, it's going to be a glorious repast! You even light candles.You sit down at the table. Spread your napkins in your laps and raise your glasses in a toast. Then dig in. Delicious! And before you know it, one of you turns to the other and remarks, "Oh, all that work, and it's all finished." The essence of that meal was that one moment when you swallowed that last forkful. It may have taken hours to prepare, but it was all building to that point where you had ingested all. That final moment was the meal.
One day is a collection of moments. One day is a formless thing only given some shape by collecting the memory of those moments.
In the Disney movie version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (I hate that description, but more of that at another time), Snow sings, "One day, my prince will come..." One day, at one particular moment, he will arrive and lift her heart to heights of rapture previously only imagined, but what of the day after he comes? That rapturous moment will become old news, no news. Memories never hold as much emotion as the moments they recall. That only happens in the movies where the moments can be played over and over again as real (or cinematic, if you will) as the first time they occur, and think of this, the first time you see it, you're only seeing the image of something that happened for real on a sound stage months or even years ago. So not even your first time is the real thing for the participants. Even if a tear comes to your eye because you are moved so deeply -- it's their memory, not yours. But it evokes a moment you have experienced. A moment only.
The moment you learned whether it was a boy or a girl, or twins.
The moment you passed and could proceed to the next step.
The moment you said, "I do." The very essence of your wedding day.
The moment you realized you didn't.
The moment you were given praise for a job well done.
Childhood moments of gratification. All those moments gathered together in big bundles of hours. Those were the days.
Can't I get a moment's peace? One day you will have endless peace.
One day, but hopefully not today.
Take a moment to relax. Have a cup of tea, or coffee if you prefer. Have a biscuit.
Call a friend.
Write in a diary. Don't lose any of those precious moments. Time has a way of eliding their significance.
One day everything will be right, or it may never be. One day never comes. It never happens. You can only concentrate on the moment. Maybe tomorrow you'll take care of it. It happened yesterday. Today's the day. Can you? Did it? Is it, really? The whole day? Or just in the space of an hour?
Have you ever planned and prepared a sumptuous meal? The shopping for it, especially if it contains exotic ingredients, could take a while. The cooking may take more than an hour or two or even longer. Maybe you'll share a nice bottle of wine with your spouse or whoever it is you plan to share this meal with.Oh, it's going to be a glorious repast! You even light candles.You sit down at the table. Spread your napkins in your laps and raise your glasses in a toast. Then dig in. Delicious! And before you know it, one of you turns to the other and remarks, "Oh, all that work, and it's all finished." The essence of that meal was that one moment when you swallowed that last forkful. It may have taken hours to prepare, but it was all building to that point where you had ingested all. That final moment was the meal.
One day is a collection of moments. One day is a formless thing only given some shape by collecting the memory of those moments.
In the Disney movie version of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (I hate that description, but more of that at another time), Snow sings, "One day, my prince will come..." One day, at one particular moment, he will arrive and lift her heart to heights of rapture previously only imagined, but what of the day after he comes? That rapturous moment will become old news, no news. Memories never hold as much emotion as the moments they recall. That only happens in the movies where the moments can be played over and over again as real (or cinematic, if you will) as the first time they occur, and think of this, the first time you see it, you're only seeing the image of something that happened for real on a sound stage months or even years ago. So not even your first time is the real thing for the participants. Even if a tear comes to your eye because you are moved so deeply -- it's their memory, not yours. But it evokes a moment you have experienced. A moment only.
The moment you learned whether it was a boy or a girl, or twins.
The moment you passed and could proceed to the next step.
The moment you said, "I do." The very essence of your wedding day.
The moment you realized you didn't.
The moment you were given praise for a job well done.
Childhood moments of gratification. All those moments gathered together in big bundles of hours. Those were the days.
Can't I get a moment's peace? One day you will have endless peace.
One day, but hopefully not today.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
Once upon a time, in a galaxy far away...
Here's something to check out:
Yahoo 'Time Capsule' to Launch from Mexican Pyramid
The Mexican Pyramid of the Sun at the Teotihuacan archeological site outside Mexico City will serve as a “launch pad” for the digital information capsule
Yahoo to Launch Time Capsule From Mexican Pyramid
Time capsule to be beamed from Mexican pyramid
Yahoo To Pester Aliens With Earth News
If they asked you for something to include in the Time Capsule, what would you contribute?
That is to say, what do you think the aliens should know about Earth and its inhabitants?
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Re: Positioning
Wish I'd continuously kept an online journal when I first came to Mexico a little over five years ago. It would be great fun to look back on the posts now to see how I or my surroundings have changed.
Working for a prestigious school here in southern Mexico has been a broadening (and sometimes exhausting) experience. It's not so much time in front of groups that is wearing. That's the fun part. It's all the planning and administrative work that tires me. I still, five years on, haven't taken the time to really explore all there is to do and see here. Although I have settled in to the daily routine of living here, my high-school Spanish has not greatly improved, but I can communicate and make my way around town, and must say the people who've befriended me have done so in a warm and gracious way. I don't feel like a stranger (much) but my intractibility has caused small difficulties from time to time. For instance, I served for a year and a half as the coordinator of English at the school, but was recently asked to pass on the position to a native Mexican because I wasn't much good at schmoozing with parents about their children's progress.
The many students I have worked with, of varying teenage years, have all been bright and there has never been a problem communicating with them. I often get them to write essays and fictional pieces and they mostly have shown high degrees of creativity.
Generally, however, there is a lack of interest in reading (even in their first language) for pleasure. Students will do required academic reading and almost all are computer literate and surf the Internet for pleasure. American and European music with English lyrics are widely appreciated and the themes are understood, and in fact, many students do read pop fiction, but when asked about it generally deny having recently read anything. I guess it's not cool to admit to that particular penchant. For instance, a large percentage were familiar with The Da Vinci Code before the movie came out, and all know what to expect in the next installment of the Harry Potter series, but nobody seems to want to discuss these things for fear of appearing too literate in front of their peers. Only adults occasionally discuss local writers of import such as Rosario Castellanos or Jaime Sabines.
American movies are very popular as are dubbed or subtitled television shows from the U.S. Sit-coms top that list, although, youth-oriented soap opera styled programs and crime melodramas also rank high. There is stiff competition in this area from the home-grown telenovelas that proliferate. A friend told me early in my stay here that Saturdays traditionally featured old black and white Pedro Infante movies, but the watching of these, too, is generally denied among the youthful crowd I deal with on a daily basis. MTV and TeleHit are thoroughly absorbed and though traditional fare is observed, it is hardly acknowledged. There are several cineplexes which seem to thrive, but I know of at least five smaller movie theaters that have closed during my residence.
Here in Tuxtla Gutierrez, the city museum was closed and in a state of disrepair when I arrived, and though it is open to the public once again, it is never crowded, nor, it seems, is the Casa de Artesenias much frequented.
In the bookstores, there is a dearth of historical reading matter. This city is filled with schools and the bookstores carry loads of technical and academic titles, but one is hardpressed to find a good picture book of local history.
Not too long ago, an extension was built onto one of the modern malls, the most modern, in fact, and a Sanborn's opened bringing with it the cosmopolitan flavor of Mexico City. It is the only place in town I know of where someone like me can find a small selection of books and periodicals in English, and though some English language magazines have generally been available for some time, it is nice not to have to go to San Cristobal for the occasional novel.
So that seems to be the general states of affairs. This is an area rich in cultural tradition, but most of it you have to learn by word of mouth. I have been here, as I say, for five years, and all things being equal, will probably remain for the foreseeable future. I think I will use some of my free time to explore and note what I find.
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
How Could You Do It?
Plagiarism is on the rise, and it’s not just about students’ term papers. Consider the sordid case of Ann Coulter... more» Check out this article and let’s have your comments on this topic. Is it fair for someone to do a lot of research and others to receive payment for articles based on that research? What is plagiarism to you? Would you consider using unresearched material? If yes, under what circumstances? Is it ever right to do so?
Wednesday, June 1, 2005
Summer Isn't What It Used to Be
What a strange summer this is turning out to be. A is in California, with his mother, visiting his family and attending Ivy’s graduation. I am here alone until Saturday. That isn’t the strange part, however. It’s that this is summer, and I have gotten stuck teaching two classes for five hours a day—a total of 25 hours a week, which is more time in front of students than I had to put in during the regular semester. What kind of summer vacation is this?
They are not difficult classes to teach—only five students (two from 8:00 to 10:00 and three from 1:00 to 4:00), but long. I find more than 90 minutes of one activity a strain, and there is a lot stuff to do in preparation for August with no time to take care of it. I know I’m lazy and a time waster, but at this point in my life I treasure my down time and I tend to stretch out those moments until they eat into what should be busy time. Like now, I would rather be writing a journal entry than grading papers.
They are not difficult classes to teach—only five students (two from 8:00 to 10:00 and three from 1:00 to 4:00), but long. I find more than 90 minutes of one activity a strain, and there is a lot stuff to do in preparation for August with no time to take care of it. I know I’m lazy and a time waster, but at this point in my life I treasure my down time and I tend to stretch out those moments until they eat into what should be busy time. Like now, I would rather be writing a journal entry than grading papers.
Monday, April 25, 2005
The Rabbit Died
I didn’t think I’d post another entry so soon, but I’m a little upset and I wanted to note: Tekkie died today. He was left here around four o’clock and seemed fine, but when A and I came into the house around six, the rabbit was dead on the kitchen floor. There was nothing wrong with him on the outside, so we assumed he must have been poisoned by eating dead leaves from the tree outside. I had allowed him to wander around the enclosed patio. It was either that or perhaps parasites from the lettuce he had been fed. Such a delicate little thing. He was turning out to be a bit of a nuisance with the foot nipping and constant pooping, but he really was a cute little ball of fur. I had him here less than two weeks. I can’t seem to keep a pet, and it always hurts when they’re gone.
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Alone with a Rabbit
Another depressing weekend sitting here alone, except now there is a rabbit with me—given to me by my students for my birthday, but all he does is crap and bite, so he is not good company.
I have papers to grade and charts to prepare—work which should have been done a week ago, but I haven’t the enthusiasm needed to complete my tasks. In this new position, there is no end in sight. I’m expected to work through the summer now, so days just repeat themselves. This semester will end in a couple of weeks, and the faces will change, but the work will go on and on and on. It is no longer fulfilling.
I don’t get time to write. I’m snatching moments to make this entry. Granted I’ve just passed through my memorial week, when I have vowed not to write, but it is like that most of the time now. There is too much to do—none of which I want to do. I’m feeling old, lonely, and often despondent. Uncreative. Repetitive days do not inspire.
These moments when the space is too warm and I don’t even feel like getting dressed, I sit in front of a fan and smoke cigarettes and stare into space dreaming of things I will write, but those thoughts don’t make it to the page. It seems I often journalize to express my angst, but frequently I don’t even do that. Rather, I often succumb to the numbingness of sitting through a movie I’ve already seen several times because that requires no expulsion of energy, and it can sometimes revive a pleasant memory of the ephemera surrounding the original viewing. Of course, there are times when I push myself to write things down and this has thus become a Journal of Disappointments and Depression, perhaps not something I am ever going to want to reread if the veil lifts.
I have papers to grade and charts to prepare—work which should have been done a week ago, but I haven’t the enthusiasm needed to complete my tasks. In this new position, there is no end in sight. I’m expected to work through the summer now, so days just repeat themselves. This semester will end in a couple of weeks, and the faces will change, but the work will go on and on and on. It is no longer fulfilling.
I don’t get time to write. I’m snatching moments to make this entry. Granted I’ve just passed through my memorial week, when I have vowed not to write, but it is like that most of the time now. There is too much to do—none of which I want to do. I’m feeling old, lonely, and often despondent. Uncreative. Repetitive days do not inspire.
These moments when the space is too warm and I don’t even feel like getting dressed, I sit in front of a fan and smoke cigarettes and stare into space dreaming of things I will write, but those thoughts don’t make it to the page. It seems I often journalize to express my angst, but frequently I don’t even do that. Rather, I often succumb to the numbingness of sitting through a movie I’ve already seen several times because that requires no expulsion of energy, and it can sometimes revive a pleasant memory of the ephemera surrounding the original viewing. Of course, there are times when I push myself to write things down and this has thus become a Journal of Disappointments and Depression, perhaps not something I am ever going to want to reread if the veil lifts.
Friday, April 8, 2005
Ambivalence
This is the time of year I feel so ambivalent about. Yes, it’s spring. Days are sunny, but not so stifling hot, and there is a sense of renewal in the air. But specifically these two weeks in early April are a painful reminder to me of that April of the year 2000… At this juncture, I find it difficult to believe five years have passed, and how much my life has changed. …
April is also tax time and again I become aware of my neglected duties. I am no patriot, but I know what I’m supposed to do. Blank forms are upstairs—I just never get around to remitting them.
This is also the time when all test preparation begins. Third partials are this coming week—then extemps are to be administered—followed too closely by final exams. This year will be different in that I will not have the summer off.
I did not go up to New York during Semana Santa, but hope to, perhaps, make the trip some time in July. I can take two weeks, but my financial situation is not as it once was, so I’m not sure yet when I will return. A is setting up something for a seminar in Spain around that time, and it would make sense to take care of my business simultaneously, but well…
Yesterday was the day of the water dumping. I don’t want to say more about that, but simply note it here to remind myself of how crazy Stress Week makes me. It’s a poor excuse, I know, but some things never change. They just manifest themselves in different ways.
I want to go to San Cristóbal today even though I have so many things to do and should get to them. I mean to go no matter what is pressing. Sometimes I get sidetracked by details, but I am always reminded that, “Life is short. Carpe diem.” Occasionally, I take heed and rush headlong into whatever appeals to me most. There is so little diversion on offer and what I like—I like. When the final tally is taken, I want to come out winning and as I see it, there’s only one way I can. Perhaps there is more than one way, but not many, not by a long shot.
April is also tax time and again I become aware of my neglected duties. I am no patriot, but I know what I’m supposed to do. Blank forms are upstairs—I just never get around to remitting them.
This is also the time when all test preparation begins. Third partials are this coming week—then extemps are to be administered—followed too closely by final exams. This year will be different in that I will not have the summer off.
I did not go up to New York during Semana Santa, but hope to, perhaps, make the trip some time in July. I can take two weeks, but my financial situation is not as it once was, so I’m not sure yet when I will return. A is setting up something for a seminar in Spain around that time, and it would make sense to take care of my business simultaneously, but well…
Yesterday was the day of the water dumping. I don’t want to say more about that, but simply note it here to remind myself of how crazy Stress Week makes me. It’s a poor excuse, I know, but some things never change. They just manifest themselves in different ways.
I want to go to San Cristóbal today even though I have so many things to do and should get to them. I mean to go no matter what is pressing. Sometimes I get sidetracked by details, but I am always reminded that, “Life is short. Carpe diem.” Occasionally, I take heed and rush headlong into whatever appeals to me most. There is so little diversion on offer and what I like—I like. When the final tally is taken, I want to come out winning and as I see it, there’s only one way I can. Perhaps there is more than one way, but not many, not by a long shot.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
To Coordinate or Not to Coordinate
One month into the position of Coordinador de Idiomas, and I have to admit although the money is good and I don’t want to give it up, I do not truly feel fit for this job. I also have three normal classes at three different levels, and along with the administrative duties, I am exhausted all the time. Only one class is a hold over from last semester, but with the problems of the electronic platform, that one, too, is in disarray. This week coming is for first partial exams, and at the moment I have nothing ready for any of these classes. Kate left in December after briefing me in a schrift (though admittedly, I didn’t pursue the training with so much enthusiasm as I might have), and now I’m finding all kinds of things I don’t know how to handle.
So, I have a confusing job, classes every day, for which I am unprepared, a class on Saturdays, cigarettes are ruining my health, and I have very little free time, which I seem to waste surfing on the Internet. Along with all this, A is only working a part-time teaching job at his father’s school and has a lot of free time. He takes me to Tec every morning, but then I frequently don’t see him again for the rest of the day.
I don’t feel so good about the whole situation, but look forward to some sort of vacation, perhaps during Semana Santa, though I’m thinking before April 15th, I have to go to New York to take care of my taxes. I haven’t resolved them for 2002, 2003, and now 2004 filing is due.
After the last fiasco, I’m almost afraid to go to New York. I’m losing money by the pound, and that’s another reason I want to keep this job. I’m hoping that as the New York money goes down, the Mexican money goes up and it balances out somewhat.
For the 19th of February, I hope to go to Tapachula to apply a TOEFL, and that’s a new thing for me. If I can find enthusiasm for little things, perhaps it will be enough to carry me through. As it is, I just dream about a time when I can retire, laze on a beach, drink piña coladas, and write whatever I want. Actually, I want Jimmy Buffet’s life, only I’m not enough of a pirate to steal away and just do it, nor do I have enough capital to make a start.
Oh, well, the dream is still alive.
So, I have a confusing job, classes every day, for which I am unprepared, a class on Saturdays, cigarettes are ruining my health, and I have very little free time, which I seem to waste surfing on the Internet. Along with all this, A is only working a part-time teaching job at his father’s school and has a lot of free time. He takes me to Tec every morning, but then I frequently don’t see him again for the rest of the day.
I don’t feel so good about the whole situation, but look forward to some sort of vacation, perhaps during Semana Santa, though I’m thinking before April 15th, I have to go to New York to take care of my taxes. I haven’t resolved them for 2002, 2003, and now 2004 filing is due.
After the last fiasco, I’m almost afraid to go to New York. I’m losing money by the pound, and that’s another reason I want to keep this job. I’m hoping that as the New York money goes down, the Mexican money goes up and it balances out somewhat.
For the 19th of February, I hope to go to Tapachula to apply a TOEFL, and that’s a new thing for me. If I can find enthusiasm for little things, perhaps it will be enough to carry me through. As it is, I just dream about a time when I can retire, laze on a beach, drink piña coladas, and write whatever I want. Actually, I want Jimmy Buffet’s life, only I’m not enough of a pirate to steal away and just do it, nor do I have enough capital to make a start.
Oh, well, the dream is still alive.
Sunday, October 31, 2004
Winding Down (and Out)
I feel as if the world is winding down for me. Mentally, I am in a lost place. Some awful things have happened long before I expected the time of final things.
My health is not so good. Many little details bother me.
Financially, I am sitting on the fence of going forward and trying to go home. But to what home?
On October 26th, I finally suffered for not making clear to everyone that the scumbag who has been charging purchases all over the place is not me. A collection agency put a hold on $8,000 of my savings because they think they have the thief. Because I was not in New York to protest, they won a judgment against me. It is not my debt, but I have been told there is very little I can do about clearing this up short of taking the matter to civil court, which I would have to be there to do.
In addition, I have not taken care of my taxes, so the IRS is deducting from the interest. I keep meaning to sit down and right this situation, but I find hours slipping by while I surf the Internet. Withdrawing into the safe place inside my memories, sometimes even there I feel the intrusion of an unfair world. I’ve lost whatever little conviction I was building and no longer feel capable of responding to inequity.
At times, I have projected and thought I would enjoy living to ninety and watching this changing world, but lately, I feel as if I am ready to die soon. There is very little that brings me joy these days.
I don’t say this because of the robbing of my money alone—it is a combination of things that puts me in this mood.
I am a man out of place in his surroundings. When I went to New York in July, I quickly realized how different it had become from the time I felt it was my world. Having awakened too late for my flight to Mexico City, everything, for me, went a little wrong after that. I felt as if I had become a zombie by the time I was sitting in my brother’s car. And now, three months later, I have not returned to life.
I lost my guiding spirit in April of 2000, and so long as I didn’t change the set, I was able to drift through the days, but I came to a fork in the road that December, and I think I may have chosen a path not meant for me. I was distracted by my heart’s yearning, and I made irrevocable choices. Now, I am once again in a place where it looks as if I must make choices and I am reluctant to do anything.
My health is not so good. Many little details bother me.
Financially, I am sitting on the fence of going forward and trying to go home. But to what home?
On October 26th, I finally suffered for not making clear to everyone that the scumbag who has been charging purchases all over the place is not me. A collection agency put a hold on $8,000 of my savings because they think they have the thief. Because I was not in New York to protest, they won a judgment against me. It is not my debt, but I have been told there is very little I can do about clearing this up short of taking the matter to civil court, which I would have to be there to do.
In addition, I have not taken care of my taxes, so the IRS is deducting from the interest. I keep meaning to sit down and right this situation, but I find hours slipping by while I surf the Internet. Withdrawing into the safe place inside my memories, sometimes even there I feel the intrusion of an unfair world. I’ve lost whatever little conviction I was building and no longer feel capable of responding to inequity.
At times, I have projected and thought I would enjoy living to ninety and watching this changing world, but lately, I feel as if I am ready to die soon. There is very little that brings me joy these days.
I don’t say this because of the robbing of my money alone—it is a combination of things that puts me in this mood.
I am a man out of place in his surroundings. When I went to New York in July, I quickly realized how different it had become from the time I felt it was my world. Having awakened too late for my flight to Mexico City, everything, for me, went a little wrong after that. I felt as if I had become a zombie by the time I was sitting in my brother’s car. And now, three months later, I have not returned to life.
I lost my guiding spirit in April of 2000, and so long as I didn’t change the set, I was able to drift through the days, but I came to a fork in the road that December, and I think I may have chosen a path not meant for me. I was distracted by my heart’s yearning, and I made irrevocable choices. Now, I am once again in a place where it looks as if I must make choices and I am reluctant to do anything.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
Yellow Light
The yellow light comes at around four o’clock every day. In the narrow passageway between the livingroom and the diningroom at the foot of the stairs leading up to the bedrooms, sunlight streaming through the windowed doors to the patio meets the light coming in from the kitchen window. The glorious color resulting from this concatenation lasts for about fifteen minutes. If I can arrange to be sitting in a chair having a cup of coffee and enjoying a cigarette, and observe this manifestation, all is right with the world for another day. I’m a simple man. It takes something as small as that to keep me happy.
However, if I’m busy or somewhere else at that time of the afternoon, and I miss my light fix, I feel lost and the day seems wrong, which implies that perhaps I am not such a simple man. If I put such store in this one poetic moment, maybe I need to get a life, as they say.
Day after tomorrow, I leave for New York, and although I can visualize the details of my apartment, I wonder what I will find there. My brother and Charlene have lived there now for more than two years, and they had made changes before I went home last time.
I have my present firmly fixed in my mind’s eye. Please let me recognize my past and keep it in perspective, and not let it interfere with my future.
Time plays a game with or without our sanction. We are the chess pieces. Whenever we stop to observe, we are on different squares from whence we began, never forgetting we are looking to mate to win.
However, if I’m busy or somewhere else at that time of the afternoon, and I miss my light fix, I feel lost and the day seems wrong, which implies that perhaps I am not such a simple man. If I put such store in this one poetic moment, maybe I need to get a life, as they say.
Day after tomorrow, I leave for New York, and although I can visualize the details of my apartment, I wonder what I will find there. My brother and Charlene have lived there now for more than two years, and they had made changes before I went home last time.
I have my present firmly fixed in my mind’s eye. Please let me recognize my past and keep it in perspective, and not let it interfere with my future.
Time plays a game with or without our sanction. We are the chess pieces. Whenever we stop to observe, we are on different squares from whence we began, never forgetting we are looking to mate to win.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
Flying Home
It’s 10:00 pm Sunday, and I have lived alone here for a week. I have finished my summer course and this Thursday I will be flying to New York. I have spoken to A pretty much every day via Messenger (sometimes with webcam) and/or phone. He seems to have gotten through his first week of classes without too much ruckus and this weekend he went to visit his family in Ontario, near Los Angeles, I think. I haven’t had any difficulty being here by myself. During the week I had homework assignments to keep me busy, and I did a bit of house cleaning and washed some laundry.
I have done some work preparing for my upcoming classes, but no personal writing. I read Philip Larkin’s A Girl in Winter and think it will become one of my favorites. It was so appropriate for my time right now. I need to get some more of my books from New York because when I get in a melancholy mood some of them help me regain my perspective—my personal perspective, that is, which I know is kind of tepid and old-fashioned, but I don’t think that will change much at this point in my life.
Tomorrow night I’m supposed to meet Calvin for a drink and some conversation—looking forward to that.
I can’t believe I only have three more days here!
I have done some work preparing for my upcoming classes, but no personal writing. I read Philip Larkin’s A Girl in Winter and think it will become one of my favorites. It was so appropriate for my time right now. I need to get some more of my books from New York because when I get in a melancholy mood some of them help me regain my perspective—my personal perspective, that is, which I know is kind of tepid and old-fashioned, but I don’t think that will change much at this point in my life.
Tomorrow night I’m supposed to meet Calvin for a drink and some conversation—looking forward to that.
I can’t believe I only have three more days here!
Saturday, July 3, 2004
Alone
It is 6:30 on a Saturday. My first day completely alone here in Mexico. A has gone to San diego for a month-long course. I have Module 5 left next week of my Capacitación en Verano, and then on the 15th I am going to New York. Both of us should be returning to Tuxtla on August 4th. Without a friend here, I am bored already, and the 15th seems so far away.
I know I have complained quite a bit about the situation here, but this morning I was more upset to be facing this time alone. Of course, I can read or write without interruptions. I am sitting around too much lately. I have put on weight. My goal is to lose some of it during this novel adventure. I have vowed not to eat any red meat for a month, but now I’m longing for a burger. I have vowed many things over time and have found it difficult to follow through. This is something I kind of have to do, however, as very few articles of clothing fit properly. A month is not very much time to achieve a goal, but it could provide the spur I need to make some headway.
I need to keep busy to avoid feeling sorry for myself. I know many of my problems are of my own making. I just have to discover the way to unmake them. Easier said than done.
I know I have complained quite a bit about the situation here, but this morning I was more upset to be facing this time alone. Of course, I can read or write without interruptions. I am sitting around too much lately. I have put on weight. My goal is to lose some of it during this novel adventure. I have vowed not to eat any red meat for a month, but now I’m longing for a burger. I have vowed many things over time and have found it difficult to follow through. This is something I kind of have to do, however, as very few articles of clothing fit properly. A month is not very much time to achieve a goal, but it could provide the spur I need to make some headway.
I need to keep busy to avoid feeling sorry for myself. I know many of my problems are of my own making. I just have to discover the way to unmake them. Easier said than done.
Wednesday, May 26, 2004
Cycles
It was Sunday night, actually Monday morning—nothing was open. I had one cigarette left in the last pack of a carton I’d picked up at City Club the previous Monday. I’d been at the computer all day, while A was at a soccer game, then watching Big Brother on his family’s big-screen TV.
When he came to the house, he told me to come with him in his car while he drove around looking for some smokes. The only option we discovered was one of the kangurus, who offered to sell us an overpriced pack in lieu of a couple of loosies. That’s when I decided to stop smoking.
My resolve lasted until the next morning when the tienda on the corner was open.
This is the kind of cycle we repeatedly go through, with A out of work and me on brief hiatus between semesters. He was going to use his treadmill to shake off some of the extra kilos. I was going to write more. We were going to gather a group of friends and travel to some of the less expensive sites I still haven’t visited after three years in Chiapas and he has not seen since he was a child.
Of course, he’ll get another job after he finishes his seminar in san Diego, and by then I’ll be teaching English again to teenagers who have little or no interest in learning it, but the coulda-woulda-shouldas will be didn’ts—likely or not.
The wading pool on the patio is murky. At least it’s not losing water anymore. I used it for an hour or so the other day. It wasn’t so much fun without the beers. Probably not too healthy either, as I could feel bits of grit under my feet. Still, it was refreshingly warm as I lay in it and watched the sky darken.
I think I wouldn’t smoke so much if I lived here alone without friends visiting, or if I had an interest in watching other people’s lives on a big-screen TV.
I really need to prepare my lessons for the electronic platform and stop futzing around with the paint program.
I should get dressed and go out to a bar and maybe hook up with a female companion.
I could clean out the pool and invite some people over—I would be a good host.
No, I wouldn’t—I never have been. I wasn’t at home, where I spoke the language, and here in Mexico, I sleep too much and smoke too many cigarettes.
Oh, god, it’s two-thirty! A won’t come by for at least another hour, and I just lit my last smoke.
When he came to the house, he told me to come with him in his car while he drove around looking for some smokes. The only option we discovered was one of the kangurus, who offered to sell us an overpriced pack in lieu of a couple of loosies. That’s when I decided to stop smoking.
My resolve lasted until the next morning when the tienda on the corner was open.
This is the kind of cycle we repeatedly go through, with A out of work and me on brief hiatus between semesters. He was going to use his treadmill to shake off some of the extra kilos. I was going to write more. We were going to gather a group of friends and travel to some of the less expensive sites I still haven’t visited after three years in Chiapas and he has not seen since he was a child.
Of course, he’ll get another job after he finishes his seminar in san Diego, and by then I’ll be teaching English again to teenagers who have little or no interest in learning it, but the coulda-woulda-shouldas will be didn’ts—likely or not.
The wading pool on the patio is murky. At least it’s not losing water anymore. I used it for an hour or so the other day. It wasn’t so much fun without the beers. Probably not too healthy either, as I could feel bits of grit under my feet. Still, it was refreshingly warm as I lay in it and watched the sky darken.
I think I wouldn’t smoke so much if I lived here alone without friends visiting, or if I had an interest in watching other people’s lives on a big-screen TV.
I really need to prepare my lessons for the electronic platform and stop futzing around with the paint program.
I should get dressed and go out to a bar and maybe hook up with a female companion.
I could clean out the pool and invite some people over—I would be a good host.
No, I wouldn’t—I never have been. I wasn’t at home, where I spoke the language, and here in Mexico, I sleep too much and smoke too many cigarettes.
Oh, god, it’s two-thirty! A won’t come by for at least another hour, and I just lit my last smoke.
Thursday, January 1, 2004
Sappy New Year
I am sitting here alone, once again, through my own choice, but it is not a good way to begin a new year. I chose not to participate in the all-night drink fest yesterday, and today, when the prospect was to go and sit in the house at LaSalle for an hour or more feeling like a fifth wheel, I again said no. I am anti-social, and it is a problem in my current situation.
There are many things I don’t find amusing. I have been told I take things too seriously (by those who take almost nothing seriously, and often invade my private space), and this is unlikely to change. As the years go on, more and more situations seem pointless to me.
I do laugh occasionally, but at present those things that amuse me are not popular with the others around me. What can I make of that? I’m in need of a sea-change, I guess, if I am to remain here.
I have been looking forward to the changes in methodology to be used if I continue at the Tec for another semester, however, all else looks bleak. During this hiatus, I have been trying to decide if that implementation is enough to keep me here. There is little or nothing calling me back to New York, and thus, I feel like a man without a home. Unfortunately, I cannot afford to travel very widely for too long. I have already spent a great deal of money just to maintain this lately unsatisfying existence.
The only time I experience a modicum of happiness is when I am alone, and that too quickly fades. Am I in need of therapy, or am I simply fated to suffer ennui where others are satisfied?
Movies have provided escape. For two hours at a time, I have been drawn in and left my sullen, passionless life outside the theater. In the last three years, I have seen more films than I did in the previous ten, but now, even they are becoming predictable.
This place seems to have given me about all it has to give. I feel as if I want or need more, but am clueless as to what that might be. My friend went away for two days with his family. We both had a good time—he experiencing new social activities, and I, sitting here alone with no one intruding. I went to the cinema one evening by myself, and bought a book. At the end of that day, I experienced a feeling of satisfaction, but it was short-lived. The next day, the “vacation” ended, and all the familiar trappings fell back into place. I went with my friend to see the same film again, so even that experience was revised in my mind and placed in the category of familiar! I still have the book, of course, a collection of Jaime Sabines’s poetry, but I have not again delved into it as I did on the day of purchase. Many of the pieces I was already familiar with.
I have done quite a bit of work in preparation for the next semester, but there is so much more to do. As I sit pondering a decision in that regard, time is slipping away. Do I invest more effort in this, only to throw it up at the last minute? Or do I effectuate and prepare for something new?
Why, oh why, when busy and bored, do I see myself lounging in a hammock on a beach somewhere with even less to do?
I believe I was born too early for this life. If I were twenty years old now, I’d be in a perfect position to go through these head-trips, come to realizations, then go on with so much time ahead of me. Unfortunately, when I was twenty, I was too busy being distracted by the traumas of others to take care of my own.
Perhaps it is lost time for which I despair or perhaps it is the milieu in which I have settled. So many young people around me, too much of the time, reminding me of all my mistakes and lost opportunities. I need to reboot, but I’m working with old equipment.
There are many things I don’t find amusing. I have been told I take things too seriously (by those who take almost nothing seriously, and often invade my private space), and this is unlikely to change. As the years go on, more and more situations seem pointless to me.
I do laugh occasionally, but at present those things that amuse me are not popular with the others around me. What can I make of that? I’m in need of a sea-change, I guess, if I am to remain here.
I have been looking forward to the changes in methodology to be used if I continue at the Tec for another semester, however, all else looks bleak. During this hiatus, I have been trying to decide if that implementation is enough to keep me here. There is little or nothing calling me back to New York, and thus, I feel like a man without a home. Unfortunately, I cannot afford to travel very widely for too long. I have already spent a great deal of money just to maintain this lately unsatisfying existence.
The only time I experience a modicum of happiness is when I am alone, and that too quickly fades. Am I in need of therapy, or am I simply fated to suffer ennui where others are satisfied?
Movies have provided escape. For two hours at a time, I have been drawn in and left my sullen, passionless life outside the theater. In the last three years, I have seen more films than I did in the previous ten, but now, even they are becoming predictable.
This place seems to have given me about all it has to give. I feel as if I want or need more, but am clueless as to what that might be. My friend went away for two days with his family. We both had a good time—he experiencing new social activities, and I, sitting here alone with no one intruding. I went to the cinema one evening by myself, and bought a book. At the end of that day, I experienced a feeling of satisfaction, but it was short-lived. The next day, the “vacation” ended, and all the familiar trappings fell back into place. I went with my friend to see the same film again, so even that experience was revised in my mind and placed in the category of familiar! I still have the book, of course, a collection of Jaime Sabines’s poetry, but I have not again delved into it as I did on the day of purchase. Many of the pieces I was already familiar with.
I have done quite a bit of work in preparation for the next semester, but there is so much more to do. As I sit pondering a decision in that regard, time is slipping away. Do I invest more effort in this, only to throw it up at the last minute? Or do I effectuate and prepare for something new?
Why, oh why, when busy and bored, do I see myself lounging in a hammock on a beach somewhere with even less to do?
I believe I was born too early for this life. If I were twenty years old now, I’d be in a perfect position to go through these head-trips, come to realizations, then go on with so much time ahead of me. Unfortunately, when I was twenty, I was too busy being distracted by the traumas of others to take care of my own.
Perhaps it is lost time for which I despair or perhaps it is the milieu in which I have settled. So many young people around me, too much of the time, reminding me of all my mistakes and lost opportunities. I need to reboot, but I’m working with old equipment.
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