It has just been one of those days. You know the sort where in spite of signs and appearances to the contrary, you feel something is just not right and you have that sense of desperate uneasiness. This sabbatical is doing crazy things to my head. The pilllessness has ensured I can no longer call my head my own.
The teaching is not really helping. Sitting at a desk, I used to dream about the golden days of training/teaching. How fulfilling it used to be, what a champion I used to feel like, so giving, blah blah.
Nostalgia, after love, is a real pain in the arse. Seriously.
The young ones these days are a little scary. I’m pretty sure we weren’t like that at 17/18 years. Not that I blame them. The world is rubbish these days. Getting more so. My kids are passive-aggressive. I just cannot understand that despite reading a thousand journals about P-A behaviour online. Every teacher I speak to complains about attitude and similar behaviour among the kids. From our lofty age and experiences, it does seem like the kids have little cause for attitude. However, I don’t have a problem with attitude. And they do have more variety in nail colour these days than we ever had at that age and I think that’s cause enough for attitude. And shoes! They have gorgeous shoes. And clothes.
My problem is their unwillingness to try anything. They want someone else to do everything for them. They are also full of excuses. It’s not just an urban problem. I saw the same attitude in a rural training program recently. But today was one of those break-through days. They were receptive and eager.
So you see what I mean? I had every reason to be over the moon, feel fulfilled, and instead there I was wondering what terrible misfortune lay ahead. We have a superb phrase for it in Kannada – irsu mursu. I usually deal with such days by turning anti-social. Or creating enough drama so that all the stressing and worrying is justified and I can turn around and say, ‘See, I told you so.’ And then smug and miserable, I debate on whether I want to get into the astrology business and give uncles a run for the moolah.
Now that I am on a sabbatical, I keep wondering what I should work as next. I have never thought so much about work, not even when I was working. Another huge irony is how now after work-life is effectively over, or at least at a standstill, people take the time and effort to tell me how good my work used to be or how much they miss not working with me. Where were all these people before? Even a slight hint of that would have probably seen me through at least one pain and trauma induced insipid work-week.
Thing is, we need constant attention and reassurance. We need validation on Facebook. What I have realised is that as we get older, we get stupider. I’m probably using the royal ‘we’. I used to be so much more composed and calmer when I was 20. It’s because we now carry baggage, as my friend Monty says. Even if it’s just ridiculous stuff from everyday life.
Lecturers of English we looked up to, turn around and say things like ‘revert back’.
People we love (including self) are all horribly predictable now. We know all about their preoccupations which seem really petty and tedious. Especially without buzz and sleep inducing painkillers.
The roads are bad; there is awful, allergy-inducing traffic.
Half-wits and sub-intellects write/spout management book mantras and are worshipped.
Then other half-s and sub-s Tweet and RT about how great the mantra and the half-s and sub-s are.
Relationships are not all they are cut out to be.
Health is the Sisyphus Myth.
America is Paradise Regained.
I took 10 years to arrive here. I had help. Literature fucks you up like little else can. But kids these days are already there. Or they have realised something similar. And they don’t even like to read. They think it’s fashionable to say ‘I hate reading books.’ So their apathy is really scary.
I’m seriously rethinking having that out-of-wedlock-child I wanted to have. Maybe it’s best not to add to this world.
To live seeped in nostalgia is bad; to live without any worthy memory, how terrible that would be!
It’s probably fine to be nihilistic at 30. How do we deal with 13 year olds grappling with meaninglessness, indulging in random and experimental sex just because they can?
Or maybe having meaningless, random, experimental sex is not such a bad deal at any age. Maybe that’s what we need. To shag ourselves silly. Make babies. Have wars. Or better still just terrorize indiscriminately. Learn nothing. Live anyhow. Say ‘anyways’.
This loss of meaning is worse than anything a war might do to the race.
Oh shucks, this is more depressing than I wanted it to be. Of course, there is always ‘hope’, that dastardly word.
Datta, dayadhvam, damyata. Give, sympathize, control.
Shantih. Shantih. Shantih.