(I don't know who drew this, I found it randomly)So I've stopped going back to Ithaca every weekend, which is always a difficult transition to make. I never really make the commitment to stay here, get acclimated and do my work. At the least sign of unshakable boredom or uncomfortable isolation I bail. It's not as easy now, that's one factor. Although Uroy's totally fine by himself for a night, he doesn't like it and neither do I really. I've grown so attached to him that if he's not at my ankle or hip I start to feel like my world is creaking unhinged, like I'm missing a little furry, flatulent ballast.
That's not the point. The point is what do I do instead? There has to be a substitute, I can't just go without that sense of being at home, the solidity of being in a space that's predictable and comfortably rote. When I want to shut off my brain I have to be in a situation that only requires muscle memory. In Ithaca, I already know the shortcuts through the permanent fixtures. I can avoid the hazards with minimal research. So what am I doing to provide that for myself in Syracuse? What am I doing to be self-sufficient?
Well, I guess I'm not sure yet. I suppose that's why I'm writing about it. I'm starting with work. I work at least 6 days a week, for more than ten hours a day. I'm still cutting corners, but every weekend I stay here I get closer to completing everything on time. For instance, the seminar on Black Feminist Theories is starting on Monday and I haven't finished my Gadamer and Derrida paper from last spring. I never really pulled back into the routine after the exams last year, I needed a break I guess. Comps and relationship detritus blew a hole in the semester rhythm.
But now that I'm more or less confined by good sense to my office and living room, I'm enjoying the work. Every week I have to read 5 or 600 pages and comment on them in one way or another. I get excited imagining that I really could do it all, AND get the house in order, AND maintain my own and my animals' health... Sometimes I work all day and it feels almost as good as the drive home after the market on Saturdays, but it's not quite the same. My exhaustion isn't rewarded by my Mom or her eager Shi Tzu, I'm not flopping down on Dom's couch to watch good television or kick each others' asses at Soul Caliber.
I'm alone, in my apartment, with my animals. My options are television, hobbying, more writing and reading of one form or another... "Cry me a river?" You sneer. Well yes, yes it's all very wonderful, but you won't mind if I do? I don't know why, after all these years, I still don't enjoy my own company. Hence the tension, right? I want to be alone because I'm tired from all the work that people take, but I don't really want to be alone. Tough truths, tough truths... I can encourage myself and say that recognizing it is half the battle, but really that's not much of a consolation. My poor animals, my poor friends, how little I really value their company, despite all appearances. I think I have to react against them sometimes, although it tears me apart because otherwise I am positively consumed in my relationships, inter- and intra-species. It's so painful to want to reject all that. I walk away from the crowd, but when I get past the last set of eyes I smoke my cigarette and I wonder "what now?".
I'm gonna walk the dog.
That's not the point. The point is what do I do instead? There has to be a substitute, I can't just go without that sense of being at home, the solidity of being in a space that's predictable and comfortably rote. When I want to shut off my brain I have to be in a situation that only requires muscle memory. In Ithaca, I already know the shortcuts through the permanent fixtures. I can avoid the hazards with minimal research. So what am I doing to provide that for myself in Syracuse? What am I doing to be self-sufficient?
Well, I guess I'm not sure yet. I suppose that's why I'm writing about it. I'm starting with work. I work at least 6 days a week, for more than ten hours a day. I'm still cutting corners, but every weekend I stay here I get closer to completing everything on time. For instance, the seminar on Black Feminist Theories is starting on Monday and I haven't finished my Gadamer and Derrida paper from last spring. I never really pulled back into the routine after the exams last year, I needed a break I guess. Comps and relationship detritus blew a hole in the semester rhythm.
But now that I'm more or less confined by good sense to my office and living room, I'm enjoying the work. Every week I have to read 5 or 600 pages and comment on them in one way or another. I get excited imagining that I really could do it all, AND get the house in order, AND maintain my own and my animals' health... Sometimes I work all day and it feels almost as good as the drive home after the market on Saturdays, but it's not quite the same. My exhaustion isn't rewarded by my Mom or her eager Shi Tzu, I'm not flopping down on Dom's couch to watch good television or kick each others' asses at Soul Caliber.
I'm alone, in my apartment, with my animals. My options are television, hobbying, more writing and reading of one form or another... "Cry me a river?" You sneer. Well yes, yes it's all very wonderful, but you won't mind if I do? I don't know why, after all these years, I still don't enjoy my own company. Hence the tension, right? I want to be alone because I'm tired from all the work that people take, but I don't really want to be alone. Tough truths, tough truths... I can encourage myself and say that recognizing it is half the battle, but really that's not much of a consolation. My poor animals, my poor friends, how little I really value their company, despite all appearances. I think I have to react against them sometimes, although it tears me apart because otherwise I am positively consumed in my relationships, inter- and intra-species. It's so painful to want to reject all that. I walk away from the crowd, but when I get past the last set of eyes I smoke my cigarette and I wonder "what now?".
I'm gonna walk the dog.
No comments:
Post a Comment