Something bad is happening to my skin. It’s getting thinner. Things that didn’t used to bother me have started to bring me down. A couple weeks ago things were rolling off me. Now it’s part of my daily rhythm to feel picked on or ignored or misunderstood. Like what happened yesterday. I’d spent a week working on a presentation that was due at 8:30 on Monday morning. I stayed up till 1:00 a.m. Saturday night to finish, missing an event I’d wanted to attend (the Keene pumpkin festival). Class began, and one by one the teacher chose people to lecture. The time limit per person was six minutes. Everyone went ten or fifteen. With four minutes left in the class I was the only one who hadn’t been allowed to speak. “Is it okay if you go next week?” the teacher asked. It was not okay, but what could I do. My anger was no secret. Today the teacher apologized again, and since the two of us were alone I vented. It is unacceptable for a teacher to demand timely completion of gnarly tasks only to screw up on their classroom management. I’d done a fancy PowerPoint presentation, spent of ton of time finding good Farm Security Administration images, selected some music, brought in treasures from Mexico (one of which broke enroute). I wasn’t happy.
I know it’s a problem with my attitude more than with my surroundings.
Here’s a picture of me co-teaching a phonology/connected speech lesson that same afternoon. I look like I’ll bite someone’s head off.
The last few days, every ten minutes or so something knocks my spirits into the dirt. I’m the only one who has no idea what they’re talking about in Kiswahili class. Does that colleague think I’m dominating the conversation? That teacher must not have read my paper carefully if she made such a clueless response. No one listens to me. I am a slow learner. Things that normally make me smile in a spirit of camaraderie leave me stony-faced. I’m a big drag.
This afternoon I went and hid under a tree for a while, waiting for my next class. (It was sunny and in the low 60s today!) I curled over my knees and my eyes unexpectedly went teary as though I were a rheumy old man in a strong breeze. At that moment one of my Kiswahili classmates walked by and sat down with me. “I’m sitting here because I don’t want to talk to anyone.” I said. “Well, I mean, except for you, of course.” And actually, I did want to see him. I like him. Hard to make that clear with your foot in your mouth and your skin like parchment.
I tried to get a swine flu shot today but got turned away because I’m too old. The geriatric version won’t be out for another while.
I sure hope my mood swings back. Nothing that a little Norco wouldn’t help. Oh well. I should try to go get a massage.
Back to work now, but what I really want to do is sleep.
I do hope things get brighter for you within a few days. The constantly-having-things-to-do routine of classes will grind anyone’s skin into a very thin, skinlike paste, in short order. A massage might be an excellent idea.
I don’t think you look like you’re about to bite someone’s head off in that picture. Rather, you appear graceful and balletic.
Hey, you can be down, but it doesn’t matter because we like you anyway.
p.s. – The swine flu should get vaccinated against you.
p.p.s. – I have to go design a website now but you know how that is…Though I think I’m improving; I can now tell when two colors look passable together.
p.p.p.s. – I’m getting fat. I wrote about it in an essay I wrote called “Leviathan.” Here’s an exclusive excerpt just for you (and the others who comment):
“To be fair, I’m skinnier than most. Most whales. Most blimps. Most small planets. I’m like the before-before picture. I auditioned for the before picture, but I didn’t make it. I’m the guy who’s not holding a newspaper in the before picture because he ate it.”
You crack me up.
I read your latest post and am stumped as to how to make things better for you. And because I know your next thought will be one of concern (that you came off as needy) let me stress that this is hardly the case. I’m just hurtin’ for you, is all. I live vicariously through you so it’s especially important that you get happier ASAP.
I’d remind you what you’ve always reminded ME-that (outside of
prezzies) sleep is surprisingly helpful-but it appears as though you
don’t have that option now-neither options, in fact. Nevertheless
please please please remember that some of this hypersensitivity is because of that fact (and lack of food and self-esteem and Jason eyes and Eleni) and, therefore, isn’t entirely REAL (i.e. despite feeling very real, not everyone is out to get you, nor are you a complete fuck-up, etc.)
Think of the little boy on Youtube, in the back seat of the car, on
his way home from the dentist: “Is this going to last forever?”
No, Mama. Not at all. It’s almost over, in the scheme of things.
A blip on the radar…
But really: try to get some sleep. Take your Trazodone even just 15 minutes earlier than usual-and then don’t fight it once it hits, like I do. Like I’m doing now.
Night-night.
Love you.
E.