November 19, 2011
What a week, what a week, what a week!
A weeks that ended in a finale of tedium nit-picking that prevented decisions from being made and action from being taken.
As the term draws to an end, work loads, marking, advising, stress (mine and students), meetings exponentially increase.
Students picking their nose in class is the least of my worries.
Although it does provide for some light entertainment.
Unfortunately, not much differs at home.
Except for the nose picking.
Stephen's stress about his dissertation and his teaching load, Em's sociology seminar, Keith's being sick and home for a week. . . .
A student who brought me a rose, Godiva chocolates and a bottle of red wine because he submitted a paper late.
Gifts that Stephen feels are inappropriate and perhaps signal intentions other than just being friendly.
Me agreeing but also thinking that he's harmless and that I can handle it.
All I wanted to do was to take a few minutes break away from the real world.
As I settled in to watch Big Bang Theory, Keith came downstairs with his pint of Canadian Club.
He's had it for at least a week and thought that a hot toddy might help him feel better, as regardless of how he was feeling today, he is going to work.
Cabin fever combined with not working two of his shifts this week and worried about what his pay would be like are pushing him forward to reconnect with the world outside of our house.
The problem: he didn't put any hot in his toddy.
Rather, he drank it from a shot glass.
I admit, I was intrigued.
Canadian Club is not on my very short list of things I've had to drink in my lifetime.
And I was just plain tired.
Worn out.
So I tried a shot.
It wasn't as putrid as I'd expected it would be.
Burning, yes.
But also a warmth was spreading through my being.
And it was nice.
So I had another shot.
And then another.
After three, though, I knew I had reached my limit.
Feeling warm and fuzzy is one thing.
Reliving the drinking behaviours of my past is not something I wish to repeat any time soon.
Or ever, actually.
By 9.15 I was good to go to bed.
As is always the case.
I just went to bed feeling warm and fuzzy.
But not warm and fuzzy enough to make this a regular thing.
Not even close.
One, I can't afford alcohol.
And if I could, I'd buy a nice rose, because neither red or white wine really appeal to me.
But a rose. . .I can handle that.
And two, I drink anything maybe, in a good year, as many times as I have fingers on one hand.
I did enough drinking and humiliating things that resulted from drinking in my youth to last me ten lifetimes.
Hence, while the warm and fuzzies were nice for the hour I experienced them, I won't be inviting them in again for a long time.
I simply have too much to do.
Searching on watchseries.eu a couple of weeks ago netted a compelling documentary out of Britain entitled My Transsexual Summer.
A series of hour long episodes following seven people who are in various stages of transitioning from one sex to the other.
Absolutely fascinating!
I know a couple of people who are engaged in the process themselves.
And they have been very open to my questions.
Imagine what it would be like to spend your life knowing you'd been born into the wrong body.
The pain and misery that comes from not being able to be who you know you are.
Given the tedious psychological assessments, the painful and expensive surgeries and the long legal and social battles that ensue, this is not a decision anyone would take lightly.
An eye opening documentary and I encourage you to watch it.
Because who hasn't felt in their own lives that they weren't themselves?
If you're interested, check out the website: http://www.channel4.com/programmes/my-transsexual-summer/articles/category/behind-the-scenes
Title Lyric: Stress Relief by Trendy
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