Having not been up here in Voxland for a while, I was just reading back through a few of my old posts. I feel very fond of them, which is nice. I read this one just now, and remembered that Edward Abbey had actually written it before, in The Fool's Progress: An Honest Novel, although he managed to do it in just one line:
Home is where, when you have to go there, you probably shouldn't.
:).
And now it occurs to me that it might be time to read that one again. That and Cavedweller by Dorothy Allison. Excellent.
I need to get back to thinking in words, again, to writing. I've been floating in the blue for a while now, spacing out, staring at the sea. It's been worrying me lately, but today I'm noticing it's maybe fine, good even. L came into the bar for dinner the other night, and said as much. I told her I'd been wasting a lot of time lately, and made some sort of apologetic noises about it. She just looked at me for a minute, that look where she cocks back on her hip, tilts one eye at you, and takes your entire measure in a glance. Then she said, "It's ok to waste time. You should do that."
Wise woman, that L. Being one of the most driven, effective people I know, I feel she's got pretty decent credibility about wasting time as a right choice. She's my boss at My Institution, and she's one of the best mentors I've ever had---wicked smart, morally sound, in every way, and simply the most constructively challenging teacher I've ever had. And I've had some superb teachers.
At any rate, she's right. I've been thinking, furiously, at full speed, for a good chunk of years, now. I think now of Dorothy Allison's line: "A [person] needs some dream time." I've been on dream-time this past month, and now that I think of it, thank God! This past year, teaching full-time for the first time, recovering from grad skool, keeping my life happening and in good enough health---man, I was starting to get really properly tired. ;)
It's like I've been innertubing down narratives, on that laziest narrative river of them all---TV shows. Specifically, Numb3rs. I turn it on, with its easy-peasy-intellectual-inquiry quality, and its family-that-likes-each-other quality and its smooth-problem-resolution quality, and just float on out on my imagination, gently bouncing and toodling along, from point to point.
This dream-time will have to recede eventually, at least by August, and I think it'll be good for it to ebb sooner. So like I said, I need to get back to thinking in words, to writing. I find myself interested in making some poems again, just little ones, little snapshots. I like snapshot-poems. I made a ton of them a few years back. It was a delightful time of paying close attention and finding a lot of beauty and interesting things.
Hmmmm....
am:
the bed is rumpled
around us; i do not want
to get up and go.
noonish:
class went well; then fell
apart, but the room was bright--
they took care of things fine.
evening:
wet greendark out there;
cats and i are dry inside
he'll be back home soon.
Feeling better, which is nice.
I have done the hard work, for years, to come to terms with having a father who sucks. For a long time, my work centered on de-trauma-ing from the years of his rages, his cruelties, his unpredictability, the overall clusterfuckstorm of his presence in my childhood. Eventually, I started working on the sadness and loss of feeling fatherless, not having a grown-man mentor, someone to ask questions, get help solving problems from, make proud, have fun with---whatever: all the stuff dads seem to do/be for people. Finally, I began to see that I was pretty fine anyway, that I'd gotten most of his better qualities and few of his worst, that I'd made relationships with a number of really excellent men, that in those relationships, I'd developed a solid role model for the way men could be, and that I could finally use that model to choose a partner who really rocks. And so forth and so on.
I've gone long stretches of time since I was 11 out of contact with my dad. I stopped visiting him when I was 12, cut off contact from 14-17, and then again, from 18-26 or so. Later, after I'd faced him and put some relationship back together, I had enough of his crap again, and cut him out for another few years. In the past 5 or so, though, I've been doing this really good job of maintaining a connection, in which I show up with a reasonably open mind, stick around if he's being good, and politely take my leave if he's not. It works pretty well and I'm proud of the way I walk this path, generally. I feel pretty sure that it will matter to me that I did this when he's gone, and I'm glad I'll be able to have spent whatever positive time together we have gotten.
But, christ, it is just so crazy-making sometimes to have a relationship with a man who is incapable or unwilling (whichever it is) to ever act like a parent. He just doesn't have the parent gene or chromosome or whatever it is. He is motivated always first and foremost and second and last, by his own self-interest and comfort, and he still lapses into big, bizarre episodes of aggression, and he still really is just an asshole by nature pretty much most of the time. No manners, to say the least.
I relate to him largely by way of detachment. I show up with zero expectations, I try really hard not to hook for good or ill. I've really grown as a result. It's a remarkable opportunity for spiritual practice.
But sometimes it just hurts. It seems impossible to truly forget that he's technically my dad, to completely let go of any expectations for father-ness, to not be hurt and sad when he's mean and shitty. To not be his daughter, basically, but to instead be a person who continues to be connected to him. And if I really weren't his daughter, I would never, ever, ever show up to be treated like this. Ever. It has been a long time since I have willingly participated in any relationship where I'm demeaned or abused or just treated with less than basic respect.
Today's one of those days when it feels like I'm living a family koan and it just hurts and makes me feel sad and I super want to hit him with a truck or at least not fucking talk to him again for a few years.
Sorry to not make a whole ton of sense, I think. Thanks fer reading. Hope all's well with all.
My dad is just such a total fucking asshole. And if anything's gonna make me feel like I've been timewarped into some whiny teenager, it's writing that sentence. Christ.
I am opposed to the flu, regardless of kind. SLP's graduation party went off with a bang this weekend, even though his mother, sister, and father were all hit with the flu in the three days before, he got it the night before, and I got it the night after. God willing, we didn't give it to any guests. I aired out the house with a great vengeance all weekend and cleaned all surfaces, and I haven't heard any reports or reproaches yet, so I'm still hopeful.
I made it into work on Tuesday morning for my professional writing class's presentations, but then hit it back home to bed immediately. Have been sleeping or reading since then---makes it 3 days in bed in all, something I haven't done in so long I can't remember when I did last. This morning, I feel reasonably human, but have only been up for just under an hour. Gotta go to work today, though, no compromises, as it's officially the last day of class and I have to pick up final portfolios and watch the last batch of presentations.
Think good thoughts.
Ah, Thursdays...
Accomplished:
- Taught the last 'real' session of the professional writing class that's been driving me nuts. The really awful kid didn't show up, which was just lovely, and things went generally well. All we have left is presentations next week. :)
- My first-year writing course at The Community College also went very well.
- Graded one full batch of Final Portfolios--all stunning, for the most part. Got lots of nice comments back from students about the class being awesome, about me being a good teacher. Super cool.
- Final grades posted for that section--2 C-'s, a handful of Bs, and the rest, all well-deserved As. :) :) :)
- Updated records for the rest of my classes.
- Spent a lovely evening with the in-laws, who are down for SLP's graduation from college this weekend!!
Well, my deep-fried twinkie TV didn't help as much as I'd like. grrrrr...
I'm just locked in a mental wrestling match with the people in my professional writing class. They're simply maddenning. You could, and I almost have, tapdance naked with flowers growing out of your ass, and these people would simply sit there and look at you, expressionless. Today was just ridiculous---it makes me so steamed, I'm not even going to dip a toe into describing it here. Otherwise, I think this post could easily turn into a rabbit-hole of bitching. But it was. Ridiculous. Rimotherfuckingdiculous.
Makes me nuts---they don't ask questions, they won't ask questions, they barely answer them, they almost never laugh. I'm going a little extreme in my description out of emotionality---we have had some good days. But, still. Cripes. It's like being stuck waiting tables in the non-smoking section on a real drag of a night for an entire semester.
And it burns me up no end that I know that the main thing I'm tied up in is struggling hard with feeling like I haven't done as good a job as I could have as a teacher. I hate, hate, hate letting students down; hate it. And I haven't done so here, which makes me extra NUTS. I definitely haven't done the best job of teaching this course, at all, but it's my first time out with it. I have worked hard at planning and assignment design, assessment and feedback, and developing classroom community and practices for doing the work. I have actually brought a pretty genuinely welcoming heart to every fucking class section, even though I've been pretty pissed off at other times. Given all the variables, I'd give myself a B-/B for the term for this one.
A B-/B is an absolutely fine grade for a first-time class, for God's sake. And yet, I am just all snared up in evil because they just aren't stepping up to their end of the relationship. Which makes nothing but sense, because if I have ever had a serious problem with my relationshipping, it's been with taking too much responsibility for other people not stepping up to their end of a relationship.
I mean the answer to my problem is to just stop being so sure I know anything about what these people are thinking or feeling. They do not talk to me, for God's sake; how could I possibly have any idea??? If I accept that I don't know what's going on behind their expressions (or lack thereof), then I have to stop being so ego-driven and taking it all so fucking personally. I have to accept that their discomfort or whatever could be about a zillion other things that are not me. As the old saying goes, the world does not revolve around me.
Ok, I write that, and I start to feel a little ease, a little spaciousness opening up.
And it's not that dramatic, either, is it? No. In my experience, really genuinely dramatic stuff doesn't happen in my life. A person's life rarely depends on the outcome of my actions---nothing in my world is that big a deal. Right. I remember this. I know this often, lately. I'm a fan of knowing this.
And yet more spaciousness opens up. And I realize that out of a class of 12, I only have 3 people who are actually actively resistant/aggressive. I have 1 that's really just lovely and brave, 5 that are good, hardworking, sweet people who are just very, very shy, 1 that is sooooo dear, in the few moments that he connects and lights up, and 2 who kind of just hang out. Also, all of them, even the really obnoxious little shit, have grown as writers this term, at least in some measure, and some, really, quite a bit.
And we only meet 3 more times. And 2 of those are presentation days. And then it's over, and I get to go on and do a better job next time.
And now I really start to feel better. Nicer. Less like a total asshole teacher. Which is nice.
I'm just going to go in on Thursday, bring them what they need to do, and be as nice to them as I can. I won't try to save the class, or them, or anything. I'll just show up and do my part and have as light a touch as possible. I'm just gonna get out of the way...
Deep Fried Twinkie Day couldn't have come at a better time this week. My students in my professional writing class were more difficult to love than they have been alllllllllll term, which is saying a lot. I almost made my Deep-Fried Twinkie experience allowing myself to hate them for a couple hours, but I've decided against it. Down that path lies a nastily slippery slope, after all, and the semester ain't over yet.
Instead, I'm going to waste some time watching wonderful internet TV, and when I am in a good enough mood again, I shall go back and grade.
Happy Deep Fried Twinkie Day to all!
