Every time I get bored online, I always come back to the same idea: have *I* posted anything today? And the answer is always 'no.'
Plus ça change, plus ça meme chose.
I thought a lot on the train this weekend, having little else to do that fit my mental state. I mean, I had this stupid fucking assignment to do of course, but all I could manage of that was to arrange my papers into neat little piles and go back to killing time. In retrospect, I still think it was a great idea: 30 hours on the train, why not use it to finish an assignment that I didn't want to do? I envisioned myself coming home tired but happy, and plugging the laptop into the printer for a final print up. Cue hands dusting off.
But instead I read books, slept, blew my nose, ate & drank of our provisions, sneezed, talked to the Boy, coughed, and sat quietly while the Boy slept in my lap. Most of the time I could not be trusted to think my way out of a paper bag, let alone write a demanding and now very late analysis. So maybe it was all for the best.
I thought about myself, mostly (now there's a surprise). While I enjoyed this vacation very much in spots, most of the time was spent in a kind of stasis where I couldn't appreciate the novelty and preciousness of my surroundings. I think that this has to do with the situation I left behind in Nova Scotia - selfish c*nt that I am, I simply couldn't tear myself away from wondering if I would be a colossal failure in 4 short months, and it cast a pall over the proceedings. Not to mention the fact that my parents acted abominably during the last 2 days of our stay...if I could've sent them to a Time Out space, I absolutely would have done so. But my bad mood wasn't about the temper tantrums, or at least most of the time it wasn't. It was this general sense of taint that seems to have seeped through my prospects while I was busy going nuts last practicum.
It's like this: I love living here. I would absolutely live here forever if I could magically transport all of my friends and most of my family to Nova Gothic. But during December, Nova changed from a place of boring but wholesome joy to the potential scene of a spiritual de-pantsing. I am occasionally full of a mindless fear that wants to run away from this place before they can kick me out of the program, and that fear has tainted my enjoyment of this province. It created a fabulous Catch-22 for me this holiday season: I couldn't enjoy myself in TO because I was too afraid of what lay in store at home, but I didn't want to come back home because I didn't want to face the possibility of shame and failure.
Anyway. All of which is to say that I can't wait for my next practicum to be over. The not-knowing is giving me the bends.
Speaking of which, I went in for my first extra-practicum class today. It was surprisingly easy to observe the class, once I got over the tense feeling of "i'llneverbeabletodothis" that clutched my heart into a tight fist. They've set this sitch up so that I'm basically there to flatter the ass off my host teacher; luckily she's so good that doing so never made me into a liar. The class passed in a familiar mixture of boredom, anxiety, common cold head spinnies, and secret black amusement at any number of things that I am professionally obligated to keep secret. Several times in my private section of paper I wrote reassuring notes to myself, like "Chocolate bunnies are immune from Kafkaesque machinations," and "did I write that in my official notes or in my private notes? Oh well, it's off the Duff Brewery."
The other fun thing was that the class treated me like a local celebrity, including squeals from girls who gave me nothing but grief when I was actually, you know, teaching them. It's like the Toronto love bounced back to me in some oblique fashion and found me in the most unexpected of places.
Now all I have to do is finish this God-rotted report. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.
* * *
Hurrah for the new journal of Betty Woo! Christmas may be over, but the gifts are just beginning. I can't pretend to be blasé about the enormous compliment she paid me in dedicating it to my many aliases...the very idea makes me vibrate with joy.
Brrrmrmmmrmrmrmrmrmrmmmm!
* * *
Last night I called Palaver and ended up talking to Tym:J about promiscuity. He was lamenting the fact that a certain girl had slept with him and others despite her attachment to "a really great guy."
"What's the problem?" I asked.
"If he were an asshole, then there would be no problem."
"Well, why did you sleep with her, then?"
"Boys are pragmatic that way."
I reeled back from the phone in horror. "I consider it pragmatic not to do something stupid that you'll regret later. I consider it pragmatic not to cause myself mental pain. I learned my lesson about temptation years ago and I learned it very fucking well - I consider it pragmatic not to go there anymore."
He chuckled in that singular Tymothi:J way he has of chuckling. "I guess it's just different pragmatics."
* * *
4 years ago today: the boys and me
