I have a friend who said “text me when you get back,” and I haven’t because we always drank and smoked when we talked. should i tell him why i keep hesitating? it’s not just that, either. for some reason, reaching out to a friend falls in the “low dopamine high effort” side of my current baseline gill said you can shift your baseline by practicing; you don’t have to conquer it all at once 050125 Haha! Six minutes into May and I’m already not doing nothing. 050125 blind spot. something is nigh that i can’t see. i’m missing something. something is looming large and obscured. occluded. something will be obvious later but is paler than foggy now. i know it’s there but i am powerless to act on it because i can’t see it, can’t identify it, can’t filter it out of the general background radiation or; i do know what it is but i don’t want to know because i can’t fucking do anything about it. even the best intentions don’t give me the power to prevent that to which it seems i can perpetually only react 050325 what is illegal: - being nonliteral - asking “what is *really* going on here is legal, but circumventing the accepted expected algorithm for what triggers the question and how the answer is investigated is not “The aim of totalitarian education has never been to instill convictions but to destroy the capacity to form any,” Hannah Arendt apparently wrote. There may not be an active, premeditated conspiracy afoot to inculcate teachers into this schedule of destruction, but there is a certain amount of randomness, accidentals, serendipity, trial and error, and just general slop that goes on in the day to day execution of our jobs; those mutations that reinforce our students’ helplessness will be selected for, unconsciously by us because of the prevailing social & intellectual environment that conscribes the conditions of our employment, and consciously by those who *do* feel as if they are not only entitled but obligated to pull our strings. Maybe. 050425 Trickiest, sneakiest, most disappointing sobriety realization: - It doesn’t work like a lazy fantasy fable — yes, you’ve stopped running away and turned to face the beast, but just that alone isn’t actually enough to make the beast vanish in a puff of glitter. You still have to figure out how to *fight* it. Balls. Today is a sunday and that makes it feel so short. Like a long walk up a long hill and a long airy staircase winding back and forth and back and forth and back and forth to get up to the top of the waterslide, but then it turns out instead of a waterslide up here, there’s a small waiting room with a threadbare rug, a desk with a wobbly leg, an elevator door, and a flickering fluorescent light. You look around — surely someone is here or has been here — remnants of a chocolate chip muffin on the desk — you’re hungry but not hungry enough to scavenge like a rat — The presence of someone — nearby in space or time or lokoua — Is it time to walk more? You’ve got your first coffee in you. The sun keeps slow-motion screaming across the silent sky. You have to adjust something — your sock? The relative weights of the prefix–infix–suffix patterns of your random name generator? Your *attitude?* I think it’s time to walk. How did we get up here? The elevator seems the only way out. Ignoring a pain in your shoulder, you find yourself in it. Someone else is in here; a bear perhaps, or your cousin. Gonna have to piss before we start sliding sideways — good thing there’s a can in this car. I have developed a powerful mistrust of “romantic” relationships of any kind, really. Yes, I worry about the girls because high school boys are disgusting, obsessive patterns, putting too much into it, diseases, pregnancy, jesus christ how does anyone ever survive this, it’s no wonder reproductive rights are such a big deal, it’s like literally what separates us from fucking cavemen, etc, etc — but also I just get uneasy around the whole subject. Like I’d rather worry about them getting home safe from hanging out with friends than worry about them being in a “relationship.” Ugh. I’m — kind of sick in a way about that, I guess. If relationships are supposed to be a normal part of a healthy life, then I guess I’m sick and I have been since 2011. Hm. La la la la la la, I don’t think I can take much more easy hip nostalgic eurotrash background music. Gonna have to hit the can and get the fuck out of this Valentine. Too many hard surfaces in here anyway. Every little noise ricochets directly into my ears. That guy over there shuffling cards — I kind of want to punch his fucking face in. I — think I may be a little bit hungry too. OK so now I’m at Colectivo over by North and Prospect, and affluent white people are so fucking annoying. This one bland motherfucker slopped back in his chair boring the fuck out of his wife I guess who is on her phone or staring blankly at nothing keeps gawping at me, slack-eyed. Then these two pasty old birds at the next table, talking about literally the most boring stuff possible, like which way she gets back here from Iowa or some shit, I just saw one of them thinking she was sly, doing an almost (but nowhere near) imperceptible shoulder twitch and side-eye, to indicate to her equally boring friend that she should look over here — at me — and then she said something sotto voce (but not quite) about the guy who has a big keyboard for his phone. They had some kind of weird, quiet, noncomittally judgmental reacion. Amusement? Interest? Disdain? “That’s weird”? I can’t really tell but the point is, wtf? Just the way people stare but don’t stare, are nosy but can’t admit it. The hollow eyes. The baseline boredom. It’s not even like they’re at a funeral, like Pirsig said the people in cars looked like, because presumably a funeral would have some kind of passion or emotion, even if it’s sorrow or grief or loss — these people just look like — nothing. Oh whatever, I’m one of them, who am I kidding. Some days one of the ways I make myself feel better is by going out LOOKING for people to feel superior to. That’s dumb. I should get a new hobby. Yet it is incredibly annoying that every time I so much as lift my eyes up from my phone and — woah! external keyboard! Wuuut??? — that one stupid fuck is staring over here. Every fucking time. It’s so fucking hot in here. Because of the sun coming through this greenhouse roof they got on this place. Damn. I guess if it was winter I’d be happy about it. But like, why the cramped, stifled side-eye comment? Did she really think I couldn’t percieve it? Like why not just either wait til later, when I’m up getting some half and half or some shit, or after I or they left, or — this is what Tom would do — just say something out loud, including me, like, “Cool setup!” or something, because bless him, he’s a dork like that. I think more people should be like that. What people? Me. I think I should be more like that. Did I mention the beast doesn’t just puff into nothingness? You have to turn and face it and *also fight it?* Huh? Did I mention that? Did I mention how Gill said thinking everybody else is the problem is a pretty good sign that it’s you, you’re the problem? The tea is pretty good though. A little weak, but that’s cuz it’s a bag. Where am I going to walk next? I think I’ll grab something to grill before I go home. I’m out and about on a Sunday, and that’s the way I like it. I value this. This is good for me. There are still some other things I need to add into my routine, but this is good. OMG, now the ladies are talking about tarriffs. I mean, I know, but still — Is that spelled right? Doesn’t look right. Words that suddenly spike on the Google usage graph. Lol. Like lol. Like tarriff. Ttaarriiff? Yeah. Now the ladies are starting to laugh a bit and actually move their torsos, lean in and out, change volume. Suddenly I hate them less. Even like them a little bit. Maybe they just needed to get their caffeine going. Wait — maybe I did. The eyebally guy is still dopey as fuck though, but I forgive him too. I’m practically Jesus over here. There’s a young, svelte latte-skinned girl over there, smartly dressed in white denim and black leather boots, with oversized sunglasses and springy ringlets. She’s writing with a regular ball point pen in a sewn-binding composition book. Many pages have been covered. She pauses for one small swipe at her phone, drinks from her metal thermos, crumples up a tan napkin and tosses it to the far side of the table, then goes back to writing. I wonder what today’s pigeon is going to be. I wonder what I’m going to have for lunch. From here I could easily get to Shuttle, Beans, Oakland, Shawarma, Fusion, Whole Foods (haha), or any number of other places I shouldn’t spend money at. Or I could eat the granola bar and cookie in my backpack’s side pocket and make do until I hit a grocery store on the way home. I would like to get a haircut, but I don’t think that’s happening on a Sunday. EDIT: It happened. Also, it took me a few hours but I caught it: *I* could have been the one to speak up and say something about my keyboard when I caught them talking about me. Instead of getting weird and squirrelly and defensive like an affluent white person, I could’ve just made it apparent that I’d noticed them noticing, and then said something good-naturedly self-deprecating or whatever, and we all coulda had a little chuckle, and I woulda felt like a grown-up, like the kind of person I admire Tom for being like, instead of feeling weird and admonishing myself for being cynical. *Self admonishment is a kind of penance, it feels like you’re doing something about being a better person, but you’re not.* You’re just indulging your more infantile self, bribing it, justifying its existence so you don’t have to do the scary (but, often, fun) work of acting like the other version of yourself. 050525 obscurantis professionalis. what does being a professional msan to you? bullshit the bullshit parts so you can be free in the oxygen parts 050625 “is that true?” digital smokescreen of noisy bullshit school makes me see the edges of the need and complicates my ability to do anything about it *What CAN I do? What CAN I do right now, today?* How do I differentiate that from what I could theoretically do but it’s hard or scary or unpleasant? What kinds of things might be getting in the way, other than “being a weak-willed loser” —  how do you apply that compassion and empathy to yourself *and* others, incl those you feel like you’re supposed to be helping? and then sometimes you get a jolt of something and you realize once again you’re focusing hard, hammering hard on the wrong thing in your brain, heart, gut; too much cortisol or whatever, yes ok you’ve been traumatized variously, you and a lot of other people, so get some help ok so i need to stop micromanaging lib so much; she feels like i’m on her too hard about everything; if she fails she fails; but i should have faith in her, not look at it starting from the assumption of failure; and yet this voice: how can you expect me to ... when so much has happened ... when it feels like if i let go of one thing or do one thing wrong she’s gonna ... but i get that from her perspective she’s just trying to express what she needs, just like we told her to meanwhile i can plainly see cel’s about to undermine her own values and start doing stupid shit because of a boy, and ... same thing ... i have to let go. i really have to let go. not give up, but let go. does that seem like an impossible nuance, an impossible needle to thread? well it is. that’s why it’s called letting go 051025 cel has more sense and self moderation than i give her credit for sometimes 051225 (Speaking of being pissed off, I’(ve/m) learn(ed/ing) something about parenting: *me* feeling bad, *me* having a shitty day, *me* getting pissed off isn’t a real consequence for the kids. It may be a consequence, but it’s not a constructive one.) 051625 all or nothing if someone else is excelling or doing something that makes me feel left behind or jealous or whatever, to protect myself against that i go into “this is all dumb and pointless and i’m smarter than this and the system is broken so i’m justified in withdrawing further because i’m better than all this” if i’m not the one being celebrated, then i must be a worthless piece of shit, all my stuff is completely wrong and pointless alternatives? - i’ve been tired and brain foggy lately and having some trouble focusing but i can still contribute something - it’s ok to not be at 100% every day all the time - some of my stuff is great for some people, AND there’s ways to keep working on it to make it better too - someone else doesn’t have to be bad for me to be good - small challenges are ok: reach out to so and so about such and such (one small thing) instead of freaking out about being left out be careful, it’s ez to conflate a step with a symptom; an answer with restating the question eg, getting a different job could potentially be a step in self renewal or it could be running away and you still havent addressed the thoughts and feelings that led to the mindset that youre in when yr feeling ill at ease or overwhelmed or hopeless in yr current one I broke the left cover piece on the 2200. Was I ever going to repair its gaptoothedness anyway? It stacked. I got screwed. I could fuck with it, or I could not fuck with it. I’m like 99.99% sure I’m not going to fuck with it. I should have let it go the first time I let it go. The voice was telling me, when Mike said he saw that Rick Fuckhead had it on Facefuckingbook, despite having had his dumb office worker tell me had sold all the typewriters. The voice said, you came to peace with it, you were gonna let it go, you knew it was just gonna be a disappointment if you tried to recapture the past that way, but you ignored the fucking voice and you gave that weaselly rat 35 perfectly good $ and now you have another hunk of shit looming about in the basement making you look like a fucking idiot. Also the fucking desk I paid $16 for is too fucking low to sit at. It’s a fucking kids desk. Whatever. I hope mom’s ok. Last thing she said was “now the power is out.” I didn’t even think to check back in with her until it’s too late and she’s probably sleeping. Her location is still on and good though. Yeah, this is great. Wow, I’m really having a great time on my weekend without the kids. Did ZERO work today too, so that’s great, so looking around my lovely house I can worry about how I’m gonna pay for it if I can’t even get myself to work a cushy fucking job. “What assignments do I have to do to pass” is all I have to answer and I, what, I’m just too fucking sensitive to even do that? 051725 she’s fine although she did unplug ALL the cables from her router when trying to do a reset after their power outage last night. We had to figure out if it matters which port is which on the Deco. (Apparently it doesn’t.) Having to worry about someone else is one way to quit being such a gloomy ruminating bastard about your own shit. I’m gonna try to not waste the remaining day and a half of my solo weekend. Making myself miserable is not the most fun hobby I’ve ever had. AI is a tree falling in the forest and no one’s around. Ideal of “teaching” is we ARE there in the forest, together. reality of institutional high school is, you have to count on that not being the case. therefore no wonder chatgpt, and fruitless to police it. pragnatism says just do what you gotta do to get the paycheck, as they are doing to get the grade. “job satisfaction” asks can i conpartmentalize? or should i get a different job? or both: can i find a niche in this one such that i can spend enuf energy on building something good? it is a simple question until you get to the “both” branch. that branch seems to require real work. which may be a good thing *** You have to make the work (whatever it is) do-able. If you’re not doing it, there’s something about it currently (for you) that’s not do-able. *** whatcha gonna do about that? 051725 You can do whatever magic you want, but you can’t ever use the same spell twice 052825 phone is neverending tissue box of poison thought leaves night snacking isn’t eating -- it’s *drinking!* 053125 WHAT ELSE IS DRINKING in disguise? (In other words, drinking isn’t drinking, it’s just the most obvious *manifestation* of drinking.) another elevator dream -- this time instead of being *in* an elevator that’s behaving weirdly, I didn’t even get in. There were capacity limits, repairs had to be done or something had happened, so signs had been posted. Ppl were being more or less polite about it but rather than keep waiting, I decided to take the stairs, even though I had eight flights to go up.