Censorship and The Editor.

'Whatever you do,' said my wife the other day,'Don't write about our guest. She'll be embarrassed to read about herself, sleeping on our living room floor.'

And, out of respect, I decided to write nothing until her penultimate night with us. However, I see nothing to be embarrassed about: Bilge is a thoroughly pleasant and good-tempered person, and while we've had to work around each other a bit over the past three weeks, I would much rather have her staying safely with us than in some dodgy bedroom-cum-storeroom with no proper lock in the dangerous end of town.

I was thinking of calling this post 'What Will The Neighbours Think?', because it isn't really about so much external censorship as the internal feeling that someone's watching you and judging you. This, I must admit, isn't helped by the knowledge that certain people are avid readers of my output of drivel. Well, hopefully avid. Well, hopefully readers. Except for when I'm feeling particularly down, I tend to restrict what I say here, and indeed in everyday life. But why?

Because, I think, I am by nature a pessimistic person - not that I look for the negative things in life: I just see them lying around as it were. In one way, this is advantageous, as I'm extremely good at planning and strategy. On the other hand, I'm always looking at what will go wrong rather than enjoying that which is alright right now. In other words, I find it hard to live in the moment. And because of these frets and worries, I occasionally freeze up entirely. Displacement activities (such as writing this when I have other things to do) appear, and then I feel that I have an insurmountable obstacle in front of me.

But I was talking about censorship, or rather my own internal editor. Because of this tendency to over-forward think, I get anxious as to how others may percieve me: as such, what I write may, I think, cause offence, and so stuff that on its own is entirely innocuous doesn't get put down on the page. Or, somewhere inside me, a voice starts saying 'that's rubbish, everyone will laugh at you for an idiot if you write or say that.' And it's a very hard voice to ignore, even if I know it to be true. What I seem to be looking for is approval from everyone, something that is clearly absurd. I then end up doing nothing and saying nothing, which is equally absurd, especially for someone who should, at his age, know better.

S0 - any suggestions for turning of the editor within?

Is it possible to believe this fuckwit?How this man can claim to be a leader of others beggars belief. Probably buggers it as well. I despair of the rampant ignorance, stupidity and cynical manipulation that pervades those who seek to rule others.

Anyway, I cheered myself up on sunday by going for a stride over the local hills.

Situations and decisions.

Isn't it strange how, when everything seems to be on the gloomy side, when work isn't going well and your money situation is bad, when you're feeling as if you're on your own and lying face down, all of a sudden Life leans over you and starts to deliver a damn good kicking?
Two things: one rather dumb, the other another reason to tear my hair out, followed by an observation. On friday, the new Vice Chancellor delivered a welcome speech in the large lecture hall. There were some two hundred teachers and lecturers packed in there. I'd arrived a little earlier, and had got myself what I thought was a decent seat high up, even though I wasn't really in the mood to listen to my putative new boss. Anyway, once the audience had trooped in and spare seats had been found, the VC began. At the same time, one of the wardens turned on the extractor fan, and that's when I found, rather stupidly, that I had sat beside the fucking thing. It rattled and banged, and I had to endure an hour of some bloke far below me, waving his hands about and mouthing words I couldn't possibly hear. I couldn't get out of my seat either, as the place was packed. I had no choice but to grin and bear it.
Saturday saw me taking the car for its MOT. For some reason, we get it done on the opposite side of town from where we live. I dropped it off, then spent a few hours pootling round town, during which I was forced to buy myself a new pair of trainers because the crappy pair I had bought a while back were no longer wearable - in short, my feet were in agony. Another bit of cash to worry about. I came back to the garage, to find the mechanic with a pious concerned look on his face - the kind where you start to think, 'OK, what's this going to cost?'
'It needs some work, I'm afraid'.
Two Hundred Bloody Pounds' Worth of bloody work.
This month, on top of the usual things I can't afford, I now have the car, the phone bill, and Angus' Judo Club. Oh, and it'll be Sean's birthday on the 25th of next month, for which I will have no cash to buy him any presents.
So, stuffed once again.
Sitting in a bar later that night, watching people yell and stagger and realising that I didn't reallt want a drink I couldn't afford in the first place, I reflected on the situation: How has it come to this? It struck me that I was there, right then, as a result of circumstance, but also of a morass of undirected decisions - or karma, if you like. The situation with the lecture: well, I should have checked where I was sitting first - then I might have heard what was being said, and not been left in such a foul mood. A simple choice, really, based on direct observation. The money thing however, that's more complex, and is arguably the current result of a whole slew of personal decisions and events beyond my control. Going back to the lecture, I realised that it was a neat summation of a certain point of view: I couldn't turn off the fan, so I had to endure it - in other words, it was something over which, once a certain decision had been made, I had no subsequent control. The situation with the money had me thinking to what extent I could control it, and make decisions from which I, and my family, would benefit. Then the old phrase entered my mind:
Give me the strength and courage to change the things that I can and the patience to endure those things that I can't.
So, what changes? What gives? Which road do I set out on now?
And the thing is, I'm not alone. The majority of us live these lives tangled in the morass of poor decisions and half-whelped intentions, and we call it life. Very few people have this single, tight, determined line, leading to what they want.

Things that piss me off - a random list.

1. Drivers, especially of Audis, who try to kill me on a regular basis.
2. Being asked to do things because someone else can't be arsed, and because I'm seen as an easy touch.
3. A certain colleague who asks me, ALMOST EVERY TIME I SEE HIM, how to set up his webmail and printers on the computer he happens to be using at the time - and then he never listens to me.
4. bar using a credit card, having no money even for a loaf of bread.
5. earning amateur wages for a professional job.
6. having my boss use me, and use other team members, to prop up a system that is failing from overwork.
7. nearly suffering a complete meltdown of my physical health because of the stress of work.
8. nearly being killed by idiots in Audis. Oh, I already mentioned that. worth repeating, though.
   
9. being in debt since God knows when.
10. not being able to afford new clothes for my children, for my wife, for me.
11. not being able to afford to go to a dentist.
12. Having to count out every single penny before even considering spending.
13. feeling utterly isolated at work.

fuck it all. This is a world that craves that stupidest of things, money, and confuses consumption with happiness.

Ye gods, and I know that this is becoming a regular complaint, I'm knackered. I managed the grand total of one hour's sleep last night, thanks to Young Sir. Unsurprisingly, I've had not the most wonderful of days. Bollocks to it.
Here's a picture of Young Sir having his hair cut by his grandmother, and Karen with Tootsie. Karen's the one on the left.

Busy running in circles.

Chaos at work, mayhem at home...will I ever get five minutes' peace? I am finding it remarkably difficult to get time to study, or indeed, space. Whether this is because of external influences or internal, subjective interpretation of the situation, or a combination of both, is entirely up for debate. One thing is that it is very hard to string together a coherent amount of time in which to complete a task, such is the pressure to get 'things' done, both at work and at home. I feel like I'm chasing my tail half the time.

Directions.

There is a recurring dream I have, albeit one that has become rarer in recent years. I am standing on a long, narrow road, silky black, standing in a void. All around me is darkness, except where I am. The path behind me fades into darkness, a single route. However, in front of me, there are myriad roads, all stretching into the unimaginable. And I don't know which one to take, so all I do is stay in the same place, first moving towards one road, then hesitating, drawing back, then moving to another, and so on, yet I do not know which path to take; And I end up staying the same. Well yes, it's very obviously a dream reflecting my uncertainties and hesitations in real life. Yet it's still a problem - which way next?
As the more astute observers among you may have noticed, I am nearing my 40th birthday, always a time when people are expected to take stock of their situation, wave goodbye to their hair and youth, and say hello to a widening waistline and a collection of pastel-coloured pullovers that increasingly become polo-necked as one begins to acquire a wattle and collection of chins. At this age, I should be somewhat more comfortable, not only with myself, but also in terms of personal circumstances. Instead, I find myself completely broke and wondering what the hell I'm doing at work.
The point, I suppose, is: Is it worth it? There are days where I find teaching an utterly fascinating exercise, others where i turn with weary disgust from the idiot mounds of bureaucracy on my desk and the ton of stress I feel under. Last year, had it not been for my timely jaunt to Corfu and having to do jury service, I am sure my health would have broken because of the stress of managing the exams in my department. Certainly, I do not want the same this year, but I find myself worried about a whole raft of things: money, study, preparing a paper for a conference, money, debt, work, exams, money again. My sense of discouragement at my current predicament is palpable.
However, in the last sentence, the word 'current' is important: I do not know, and cannot see, what's round the corner, and this is both a comfort and a worry. A comfort, because it may be better: A worry, because, it may be the same or worse. This invites the question: Do I stay on this same path, or go down another, or a different one? And so I hesitate, move towards one road, stop, move back, move towards another, hesitate, draw back, stop, and so forth. Perhaps it shouldn't be a case of my moving along the road: Maybe I should let the path flow under me.
However, all this to-ing and fro-ing doesn't solve my current fiscal dilemma. I need to clear our debts, and currently I'm in danger of sliding further backwards, clearly undesirable. It is an enormous pain in the arse. I need the directions to Mr. Fiscally Happy Land.
Who knows? If I find it, I might even end up with enough money to buy myself an Audi with which to try and kill EFL Teachers on bicycles.

To say that I am feeling down in the dumps is a mild understatement. I feel as though I am teetering on the precipice of a major down. Work appears as a vile, meaningless thing: I take no joy from it. Indeed, I can't even complete one thing without being interrupted by something else. I can't organise my thoughts, and not a thing I do is appreciated.
And as for the smug-faced tosser in the Audi this morning who thought it was beneath him to check his wing mirrors while turning, thereby coming extremely close to killing me, I am thinking several evil and nasty thoughts which involve various bits of him withering up and falling off, or anatomically impossible insertions of various car parts into him. Bastard.
And anyway, where do these fresh-faced fucks get their money from that they can swan around in impossibly expensive cars?

sour.

This has turned into one of those utterly discouraging, mean-mouthed weeks, where everything seems crabby and spiteful and futile. I feel low, uninspired, isolated, unvalued and unwanted at work. It seems to me that I am not required to enquire, research, learn and breathe new life into what I do as a teacher - instead, I am here to do a certain number of hours, tick a certain number of boxes, process a certain number of units - sorry, customers - sorry, learners. This place is more about the frantic scrabble for money than it is about education.

A new school year...

...and young Sean seemed to bloody know it. Although he isn't a heavy sleeper - he kips for an hour or two, then wants to stay awake - but last night broke the sodding record. I managed just over two hours' sleep, and that was in two parts. When you are a parent of young children, you become adept at counting the few precious grains of sleep you get, like someone on the breadline counting each single penny, hoping it'll last to the next payday. Hold on, that's me too.
Bugger.

I am having a crap day. I can't seem to get my brain in gear whatsoever.

still learning

Even after ten years of marriage, I am still finding things out about my wife. I was on Google Earth the other day, when she said, 'Can you find my street?' So, of course, I searched through Istanbul until I found the roof of her apartment and the white van belonging to her dad.
'No, my street. Nurel Sokak.'
'You've got a street named after you?'
'Yes, near my house.'
And she does as well:

View Larger Map
Apparently, the local civil servant responsible for naming streets in the area when she was a kid had run out of names, and her dad suggested the name to him. She was rather sanguine about the whole thing.