monday afternoon, and leave for home wednesday. depression is bad today, but expected. leaving the castle and my kids is always sad, and combined with depression deadly. all my cynicism about the pharmaceuticals goes down the drain, as i pop the extra sanity-saving pill. i was scared to come here this term, since the new pills have only partly lessened the depression and last year was such a disaster.but this year i was well enough to connect with the kids and colleagues [though not enough of the latter since i needed so much sleep]. i taught decently, in spite of the increased fuzziness, which always of course makes me think alzheimers but is much more likely depression. the kids have been charitable and gracious and i'll miss them.
some of the work i'd been doing with the new shrink at home i've done on my own here, and reached some interesting places. and, though writing less than at home, i've done some good stuff--especially the growth of my character 'india footlock.'' not quite poetry, not quite essay, a certain but odd kind of fiction. she makes me feel a little alive again. grown closer to some colleagues--michaela in particular, and emile and his family, and chester.
i dont like being old, and no pretty language can erase that. i am not elderly, senior, golden year'd or any of that crap. i'm old. and that means most of my accomplishments and failures are behind me [once i wrote, long ago, 'failure is a flimsy demon beside that trim toothed monster adequacy.' and i have been adequate. so death, while terrifying, will also be a relief, i think. and much of the job of living toward it is to face the fantasies that are pure fantasy and try to let them go, and pursue the small accomplishments still possible. [one of which is an increasing aptitude at tarot reading].
i will not age gracefully or with dignity; i have never lived in either condition and neither fits me well. if i must have an adverb--and i am too much a coward not to--let it be 'curmudgeonly.' it's how i've lived, now let me earn it.
this was not meant to be an essay on aging--but i suppose parting once again with a beloved group of youngsters presents that temptation. so goodbye, megans, griffin, ali's, my 2 brave trios, and all. i'll miss you---and thanks for being people i can care enough about to miss....have a great summer, and great lives.....
and to the beloved colleagues---tot volgende jaar!
some of the work i'd been doing with the new shrink at home i've done on my own here, and reached some interesting places. and, though writing less than at home, i've done some good stuff--especially the growth of my character 'india footlock.'' not quite poetry, not quite essay, a certain but odd kind of fiction. she makes me feel a little alive again. grown closer to some colleagues--michaela in particular, and emile and his family, and chester.
i dont like being old, and no pretty language can erase that. i am not elderly, senior, golden year'd or any of that crap. i'm old. and that means most of my accomplishments and failures are behind me [once i wrote, long ago, 'failure is a flimsy demon beside that trim toothed monster adequacy.' and i have been adequate. so death, while terrifying, will also be a relief, i think. and much of the job of living toward it is to face the fantasies that are pure fantasy and try to let them go, and pursue the small accomplishments still possible. [one of which is an increasing aptitude at tarot reading].
i will not age gracefully or with dignity; i have never lived in either condition and neither fits me well. if i must have an adverb--and i am too much a coward not to--let it be 'curmudgeonly.' it's how i've lived, now let me earn it.
this was not meant to be an essay on aging--but i suppose parting once again with a beloved group of youngsters presents that temptation. so goodbye, megans, griffin, ali's, my 2 brave trios, and all. i'll miss you---and thanks for being people i can care enough about to miss....have a great summer, and great lives.....
and to the beloved colleagues---tot volgende jaar!
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