From my MySpace blog...
Monday resonated strangely inside my head. The irony of 2009 continues but has now been joined by a mild mixture of hope and new ideas about life.
Early in my workday, I began talking with a former student. I think I revealed a little too much about my life to this person, and I realize that I've altered my perception of this child I once knew. She regularly seeks counsel with me, and we made our usual visit in the hallway, discussing both of our similar prospects for the upcoming weekend – we've both been asked to see movies by people we hesitate to call anything more than "friend," simply because we are both in vulnerable places. I find our mutual vulnerability makes us wary in ways we didn't expect when she and I made positive choices about our separate lives several weeks ago. Our mutual misery
has helped us to find deeper understanding of life's intricacies.
Monday brings with it a kind ritual. I teach all day. I work on school-related nonsense, and then I join several classmates for our weekly Dinner, Drinks, and Discussion meetings prior to class. Today I decided to skip the event after learning the Jason was also not in the mindset to attend. Instead, I found myself savoring a bagel while trying to catch up on some reading for class. I picked up my copy of Bitter Fruit to stay on track for my presentation in a couple of weeks. I experienced a very bitter aftertaste when reading of incestuous dealings and reading the overused "fuck" time and time again. I found the use more for shock value than for literary merit as it pertains to voice or characterization. I didn't need to read about forced acts of penetration -- my feelings on the matter have made it difficult to meet the text on a level playing field.
After finishing my bagel and talking with classmates (who, by the way, were also horrified that this text is on our list for the semester), I found my way to our new classroom. I was very pleased to see Jeff on the third floor of Pray-Harrold. Jeff and I have shared classes in the past, and it is always good to see him. We have our traditions -- always greeting with a boisterous "Hey!" rather than a friendly "Hello!" or "Hi!" It always makes me think of who we are with certain people. I realize that I am me again. Last year, we ended one of classes with our professor at The Tower Inn (my regular D3 meeting site). She treated us to drinks or dinner (I don't remember which). The air was warm enough for a light jacket but cool enough to keep people from lingering in the way that April breeds a certain clear, star-sprinkled sky and fresh air but leaves no room for the warmth that will keep one outside. As a small group, we walked back to our cars, all sprinkled in that same starry pattern. One-by-one, we dropped from the group like the children in Willy Wonka's chocolate factory until just Jeff and I were walking. As I reached my car, he continued on to the structure, even though I would have gladly driven him that last part. I remember thinking about how he would return to Ohio to work for the summer, and I was a little sad because I had finally made a new friend in grad school who was now embarking on his short trip home. It made me wish for the fall.
Running into Jeff made me feel happy. We've run into each other on campus before, but this time was different. I hoped that he will get to see me outside the context of a stagnant engagement and all that entails. He asked the same question that everyone asks -- "How are ya!?!" I responded with the same word I usually use -- "Great!" -- only this time, I actually felt great. He sort of studied my face for a moment and then continued talking. I imagine that he could finally see that "Great!" really did mean "Great!"
This short, blond man and I have discussed a variety of things -- literature, philosophy, and literary criticism -- but our mundane conversation made me much happier than those past ventures down Intellectual Lane. I think this is because I am out enjoying life, and this friend of two years was finally able to see it.
As I joined my class, students were already distributing their writing for their short mini-presentations. I tend to hate the busy nature of our group during this time, but I felt happy about seeing a friend, and my day has had a few odd points that made me feel like it is okay to be me. I feel a little weird -- alive and alert and awake in a way that makes me think things that just don't make sense. I revel in these tensions. As I began reading one student's paper tonight, I felt myself develop a crush on the writing -- NOT on the writer -- just on the writing itself. Each word conveyed profundity that I was not quite prepared to read. I felt moved yet comfortable. The sentences swirled around each other with words that articulated ideas beyond the scope of my logic at first. I read the one-page response over and
over again, feeling the words charge through my mind, take residence, and then leave. This left me wanting more.
No comments:
Post a Comment