Tomorrow is the last day of my first four-week language intensives. One class that began with promise has ended quite differently. The other three, after bumpy beginnings, seem to have had more favorable outcomes. As presents from my students I have received two Korean metal bookmarks and a cellphone screen-cleaner.
I wish I knew more about life. Like if I will have a job after the middle of March. Or where I’ll be living. Or if anyone will ever love me. Or if I’ll be able to pay the bills. In the meantime, each day I return from my job to this aggressively temporary abode, do my lesson plans, eat a salad or not, and then go to bed by 6:00 or 7:00.
I have only one comfort, and that’s my anteater. Katie gave him to me when I had an epic sugar ant invasion several years back. He wasn’t too effective in his titular role, only surveying the ant hordes from his perch on top of my bookcase. But when I moved to Davis, he was one of the few possessions I brought.
At bedtime he’s happiest when his exemplary snout runs vertically along my cheek, his body enfolded in my arms. He is very insecure.