The problem with goals is that they're hard to carry out in the land of No Enthusiasm. And by No Enthusiasm, I mean no fun and no excitement, or much good to offer toward anything in this world. By that, I mean living in suburbia in the United States.
I nearly choked yesterday when someone (23 years of age) said that she and her fiance are thinking of settling in this area. Not only is 23 ridiculously young to be even thinking of marriage, but the thought of condemning the inevitable offspring to a life that is formed in such shallow and sheltered ways is tough to swallow. I see the benefits of growing up in a rich area with schools that have language labs that rival those in local universities, but I could never imagine growing up the way they do out here. Race is such a taboo, in the way that anything other than white is less than lackluster.
Yesterday, one of the girls at work came in and told me about someone being arrested in front of her house. We swapped acronyms. I told her DWB, Driving While Black. She told me NOMAD, Nigger On Mack After Dark (Mack Avenue being the main street that goes through the city).
It's no secret that you bet on black when you see someone pulled over by the police.
I should be out drinking right now, but instead I'm trying to write my way into sleep. Drinking doesn't seem as much fun out here without everyone who's been playing global scatter, not to the fault of anyone I've met out here. Besides, driving home from the bar seems to counteract the whole point of going to the bar.
Today, I had two sisters as customers. The one walked up to me and asked for a guide on mushrooms, which would distinguish between those edible and not. Her sister lives somewhere in South America and her husband is curious about all the mushrooms growing around their home. The one sister said she would just feed them to the cows before trying them.
To live somewhere that people don't speak English, and to be around so much green that cows can have their fill. I can't wait until these months pass and I can hop out of here. Things are going better (read: the mother is doing better), but I'm still nervous to leave her alone. A nasty bout of the flu ended us up in the ER for the night about a month ago. A least some time in Ireland will help break up the monotony of this place. It'll be weird to be around people who are excited and passionate about things, but it'll be more than nice.
The other problem with being and living here is that I feel so boring now. I don't even read as much as I used to. Now, it's The Phantom Tollbooth and before it was The Alchemist. As for the former, I can't believe I'd never read it--but it's better now than it would have been if i were ten, maybe. The latter, it would have been better in another language, but I can appreciate the words even without the syntactic flare.
I nearly choked yesterday when someone (23 years of age) said that she and her fiance are thinking of settling in this area. Not only is 23 ridiculously young to be even thinking of marriage, but the thought of condemning the inevitable offspring to a life that is formed in such shallow and sheltered ways is tough to swallow. I see the benefits of growing up in a rich area with schools that have language labs that rival those in local universities, but I could never imagine growing up the way they do out here. Race is such a taboo, in the way that anything other than white is less than lackluster.
Yesterday, one of the girls at work came in and told me about someone being arrested in front of her house. We swapped acronyms. I told her DWB, Driving While Black. She told me NOMAD, Nigger On Mack After Dark (Mack Avenue being the main street that goes through the city).
It's no secret that you bet on black when you see someone pulled over by the police.
I should be out drinking right now, but instead I'm trying to write my way into sleep. Drinking doesn't seem as much fun out here without everyone who's been playing global scatter, not to the fault of anyone I've met out here. Besides, driving home from the bar seems to counteract the whole point of going to the bar.
Today, I had two sisters as customers. The one walked up to me and asked for a guide on mushrooms, which would distinguish between those edible and not. Her sister lives somewhere in South America and her husband is curious about all the mushrooms growing around their home. The one sister said she would just feed them to the cows before trying them.
To live somewhere that people don't speak English, and to be around so much green that cows can have their fill. I can't wait until these months pass and I can hop out of here. Things are going better (read: the mother is doing better), but I'm still nervous to leave her alone. A nasty bout of the flu ended us up in the ER for the night about a month ago. A least some time in Ireland will help break up the monotony of this place. It'll be weird to be around people who are excited and passionate about things, but it'll be more than nice.
The other problem with being and living here is that I feel so boring now. I don't even read as much as I used to. Now, it's The Phantom Tollbooth and before it was The Alchemist. As for the former, I can't believe I'd never read it--but it's better now than it would have been if i were ten, maybe. The latter, it would have been better in another language, but I can appreciate the words even without the syntactic flare.
1 Comments:
miss you, glad to see you're back here, though. adventures in suburbia are even fun sometimes :)
as for ireland... 3 of my good friends from england/scotland are heading over... PLEASE give them hugs for me and be their friend too! (drew, dan, declan)... have fun!!!!
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