A Holiday Ahead

The past six weeks have been very doable. 

In comparison to the ire of time twelve months ago, my body and heart feel easier, a calm body of water that swirls with the wind.

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It is five days after I wrote this. In that time I played two games, spoke to many folks (Mark and Ryc), and kept on top of a few things with work. 

Playing a few games has left me in a good position, with my imagination taking up. 

I have recently been heading to bed fairly late, scrolling my phone too late in the evening. That is 'fine' for the excitement, but the potential tiredness is something I need to at least be aware of. 

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I purposefully have left my work as it is. Today can be a little more focused. 

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I spent yesterday socialising many times. Deliberately I left my work for another day. 

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The day after I worked well, not too much, and leaving the next day much easier than before. 

The holiday has been good, and appreciated. Moderation in all things, including moderation. 

 

A reasonable week

Today I woke from a violent dream, one where I fled from masked agents who attacked me and others. The climax saw me swing a bag at a man on top of a brick building, casting him to the concrete below, crushing him. Around the building the cult-like men surrounded the building, waiting for me to flee the temporary haven, ready to take me into their compound, trapping me for life. 

I saw this even when I woke up. I woke agitated, feeling the unease of the persued and persecuted, worried for my loved ones who might suffer the same fate.  

Maybe this vision manifested how culture will inculcate us more than we accept, makes us notice that which helps the mission of others, and lets us fit with the tribe. It reminds me of my experience with the Higher Education cartel, of how they do not engage with what students write or think about. The experience is infuriating because their credibility stems from how their degrees gatekeep jobs. Yet there are no exemplars, no comments of quality, and no teaching. 

The investment in the MA feels like a cartel, as does higher education in the arts in general: what is its purpose? Can you get anything from that industry you cannot get from books? 

I wrote some emails to complain. But, like with the cult-men, do I want to be pursued by them? There was no engagement with my findings, only the glib application of a mark scheme and a tenuous misunderstanding of my findings, typed between coffees in snatched time between the real work of research. 

 

  

How things could have been

A child in Hull, working in a Hull school. 

Drunk in Hull, overselling carpets to poor people. 

Teaching next to a toilet in Scarborough still, led by certain types. 

Life could be distinctive in many ways. Instead I wake up at a decent time, ready to teach earnest kids, plenty of time for my hobbies, and the familiar energy returning to my body. 

After school today I want to see if I can remain with myself in the way I used to do with Joanna. The doom scrolling etc feels a little like I am a passenger, which I am, but with unfortunate consequences.