The travel of August seems like forever ago. Right now I'm living the theory of contrast. I need to keep my head to the ground to really be able to look up at the sky. Bryan Adams and I smoke cigarettes on break and reminisce about our lives and bask in the irony of the situation. He is a special forces veteran trying to get a foothold in his place in the states.
There's also Charles. He's a playboy with dark skin and gold teeth. The first day he and John, our preacher, argued the finer points of scripture. Bryan talked about the illuminati while I just did my job and screwed the face plates and top units before Charles stuffed the plastic on them and boxed them.
The grist... It's a beautiful life to think about but living it is hard. $8.50 an hour for 40 hours a week. Heavy labor and light assembly is my job category. Then I work 15 hours as a busboy for $7.40. Overall, I save $350 a week to the bank. There's a split advantage to bussing. I make a decent amount of tips...like $25 for a 5 hour shift on average. That money goes to gas, food, confections to get me through the day, and gifts for others. My bank account rests at $1,000 and I have $400 coming in from this week and $350 coming from next week. On top of this I do odd jobs for my sister at the vineyard. $9.00 per hour. I have 33 hours unpaid I think. That's going in the bank.
The most refreshing work, beside the vineyard where I've met a nice woman to spend time with, has to be tutoring. Right now I tutor a bright eyed South Asian who speaks fluent English and has a good intuition about chemistry. That pays $18.75 per hour through a website but I will soon be making $20 cash. Not sure what to do with that $20...maybe I should start a fund for martial arts or dancing. Those get shoved aside because I'm so tired after work that I just want to sit. Reading has declined, sax is almost stopped, and I never go out. Contrast.
It's strange to see my life up here on a screen as a commodity. Is my life really worth $8.50 per hour or $20 per hour? I hate that. I love tutoring because it is an act of mutual respect, care, and artisanship. Her education is my goal and it's something I care about because she supports me.
My parents are out of town. It's great to have the house to myself. I'm listening to eminem, undisturbed drinking an extra strong bustelo coffee. Scout misses them.
I see this, in a crude metaphor, as a tunnel through which I'm running. My own pace dictates how quickly I progress but the world alone can tell me when I'm out. Summer was like this. An extremely fun 30 days filled with education, drama, frustration, elation, and intrigue. Before that I was working in the blistering sun planting and bussing tables. Studying the MCAT and writing to a lover who was slipping away. I lost my phone and convinced myself that there was no one worth talking to because I would get distracted. Now I have a phone and no one to call.
There is light though. This Tuesday I'm interviewing to volunteer at Mercy again. I'm going to Dr. Schiowitz to get a recommendation and some more shadowing experience. Today I'm mailing that background check to get authenticated in another D.C. office. However, I have my chips down in South America January 17th if Spain doesn't work out. No matter what, I have 3 months left in the tunnel at most. At least I have a month.
Right now I'm listening to techno and thinking about my lack of creative outlets.
That's a lie.
I've always discounted this voyage of discovery that I embody in these texts. Joyce compared the act of creation to that of urine excretion...the metaphor is crass but has some truth to it. You've ingested something and it emerges from you. However, the intimacy that this liquid has in your body is expunged when it leaves you. It is warm at first...then it is a putrid substance conducive to rancid bacterial growth and capable of harm to those around.
My experience is intimate to me. I pay for it with my hours and years and then create this to satiate my need to excrete something. Then I abandon it. Maybe the work will take on a life of its own and affect others in a different way. Not make them sick...hopefully.
This metaphor also speaks to my struggle with time. What is to say that the "me" of today is the same "me" of tomorrow? On a molecular level...I'm not me. My genes don't change (excluding those pesky occasional somatic mutations) but with each meal I'm switching the carbons in and out of my biochemical pathways. With each urination I get rid of the nitrogen and so forth.
This is where I think a little more abstract: this applies to thought too. Each experience switches out a preconception or idea that we've had. The response I would have to female rejection right now is drastically different to that of five years ago. I would lash out and deconstruct her problems in front of her and attempt to make her feel angry and foolish for her actions. Now, I nod and smile. Maybe tell a joke. My personality now is one of understanding, waiting, and forgiveness. I have moments where I just want to showcase what I'm doing to people I care about or want to impress...but I find that listening is the way to learn. I've heard my story told enough times...and I don't like hearing myself talk.
So yes. I have only an abstract and theoretical connection to the young man who was suspended from school for behaving like a fool that night. His lesson is always in my head though. I am only me in the moment. This makes me tend toward the behaviorist theories about identity, which kind of excludes it. Stimulus-->Response. Right?
This bustelo is butt kicking coffee. It takes forever to brew because it's so finely ground. I might just be an idiot and be drinking espresso through a coffee machine...whatever though. It's good.
The leaves outside are changing. It's dry and cold in this house. The plastic heads showing off their jewelry sit gawking at me. My family is strange. I love them though. This time at home is making me more and more at peace with the nature of my upbringing and the course of my future...whatever that means.
My family sure has its flaws. Who doesn't though.
Alright. I've excreted enough for one day. It's time to start doing my application for Midwestern.
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