Even though I have been updating my short story blog http://www.thegeorgiachronicles.blogspot.com more frequently. Although not as much of late. I get these ideas and do the thing and then run out of steam if it doesn’t seem to be working out – that kind of thing.
Often, I said to my 50 minute hour this week, it feels like my head is encased in molasses.
Good description, she said. I was pleased that I had impressed her.
I often don’t find much else pleasing in this 50 minutes – there is a lot of staring or so it seems to me.
It is classic psychoanalysis, something I don’t think I’ve ever really had in my zillion years of various therapists. Think Freud in an updated, young woman with two small kids and an oncologist husband version. That’s her. I trust her and I don’t as per usual.
The rains have come to this fair city and they don’t plan on leaving anytime soon. Monsoon-esque. Power outages, etc.
My work life consists of inconsistency and chronic insecurity. The downtown school gives me about 12 or 13 hours a week, spread out over five days. Sometimes 1.5 hours a day which is crazy but not illegal. Go figure. There is chronic humiliation in this that would only make sense to another ESL instructor. I FBed last week about bailing once and for all.
“But a shitty bird in the hand is still worth more in none in the bush,” an FB friend messaged me.
Yes, there is that, I said.
I combine the downtown school with one evening a week at Langara – this goes for another five weeks only. And some tutoring of Chinese teenagers. I work six days a week really but generally only a few hours a day.
“So whatcha gonna do?” people ask me when they hear me complaining.
Not much really. I will have to keep up this keeping up for as long as I can. Sucks. Draining.
I’m at a friend’s house now writing – M., 27, is new to my writing group. I could be his mother had I procreated at 23, entirely possible. M. is gay lest you think there is some May-December stuff going around. He is tortured by some of the same things I am – intense self doubt, dislike, self-consciousness, impatience.
I thank the gods for M. because as we know as we know, my social life dribbles along. Great friends, great friends, all of whom I seem to have to chase around the block to see. No slight on them (really!) but I’m frustrated. There is only so much block chasing you can do.
I sometimes change my perspective on that but mired in head molasses, I flip back to being all kinds of frustrated.
So M. has come along at a good time for me.
I let most of my frustrations out on FB. This in itself is frustrating – but FB is good for that kind of a thing.
“Are you okay?” FB queried another new friend of mine, R.
“Frustrated,” I said. I was touched by his concern.
People mock and deride Facebook but hell, it works for me on many levels.
Back to work stuff. Difficult – I basically work three jobs and don’t make enough to live on. No idea how that works.
I walked in the pouring monsoon to M’s this afternoon – wearing jeans is often the mistake I make in these kinds of rain situations. But I needed a bit of exercise – I don’t ride my bicycle in this weather. My body needs the movement – I have to get some of my nervous energy out somewhere at some time somehow. I am now wearing a pair of M’s sweatpants and socks and hoping my jeans dry a bit for later when I venture out again. It is warm out kind of – warm and dark. I am sitting in a lovely recliner chair. M. is listening to music and writing and writing. It is actually very very warm in here. Good though. Good good. A lovely apartment in the West End where he is staying for awhile until he gets his own place again. Last time he came to mine to write.
I am struck by how much my brain/heart want to survive despite my regular battering of them both. That sounds dramatic I am sure but our brains do that, that drama. I don’t mean I physically batter my heart although I am sure the constant adrenaline can’t be that good for it. Hence physical exercise. I am verklempt that cycling season is wrapping up for awhile anyway – the leaves on the ground combined with the constant rain do not make cycling a possibility for me.
Isolation can make things seem surreal sometimes. Don’t know if you’ve ever experienced that.
I watched the documentary on Amanda Knox the other evening. I hadn’t thought I would but, alas, bored. What always strikes me is the ultimate and absolute lack of concern for the victim of the crime. Knox comes off not great but having a selfish personality doesn’t make someone a killer of course. Then last night I went all spontaneous like to a documentary, part of VIFF, called, “Tower.” Devastating and very very well done.
I keep hoping to be dramatically unmired – maybe more realistic to hope for a small unmiring.
The rains in Vancouver are much like the rains in London, England although in London you also have a whole lot more to keep you from going batty. I could spend a month in Foyle’s books and then another going to plays. Museums, etc. Living there as I know from those who do is of course a whole other ball game. It ain’t easy living in London. The living there is not easy. I like to slide in as a tourist.
I am suddenly craving chili.