Yesterday I interviewed for a job as a tutor. And I got it.
Today I sent in the agreement form and the policies and procedures form. I began work on background checks. $30 an hour. Not bad.
I bought four journals. Two came together as small note journals that fit in your pocket. One is a mileage log so I can keep track of my driving during tutoring to be used for deductions from taxes. The last one is a dollar and cent memo pad so I can keep scrupulous notes of every single expense. I hope to apply my little knowledge of budgets to begin to make projections of expenses and goals and targets and rainy day funds, and so forth.
I was in Miami for a fraternity convention the past several days.
Today, Mel and her mom went to Montreal. I agreed to feed the cat.
I'm preparing to go grocery shopping. And then cooking. This shall be an adventure for sure.
Yesterday I realized that indeed, I had nearly quit drinking caffeinated sodas entirely. I considered the impact that change had had on my moods, my behaviors, and my tendencies.
My dad is proud of me for getting the job. Very proud of me. I try to call him every day. Sometimes I catch myself searching for his approval, as though I were making up for years of concealing any interest in that distant seal of approval. He sounds a little happier than he had been previously. I believe I will be visiting him this weekend while Mel and her mom are gone.
Last night I believe I had a repeat dream. I was part of some squad, and we were fighting. Who? and in what fashion? I don't know. Not strictly physical. There was magic involved. The repeating part was that I was able to collapse my surroundings like a house of cards and buckle my world back in time. It was meant as a trick, a combative move, an ejection strategy. I was delighted. Elated. Though I felt some disheartening at the prospect of embarking again on the path before me. But I woke up with bliss, excitement, for perhaps the world were not so limiting and definitional in its rules and regulations. Maybe the human spirit, the human fight, can transcend all barriers.
When i dream, I think I am a fighter. And I wake up with the delirious memory and taste of enthusiasm and desire and heavy thirst. In my dreams, I recall, I am exhibiting stronger control, like my own video game action figure. I may be making some conscious decisions.
Several nights ago, I had another repeat dream. This one repeated not a device or event, but a setting. I was in a terrible, rundown schooling area, a place with meager physical structure and struggling students and a less than capable or satisfactory staff. I was engaged in the act of wading through the dim, dangerous climate. I was to park a car, move through an alley, and pass through space when space is dark and dingy and everything is threatening. Modern gargoyles in the form of lurking bodies and voices hovering around the walls and in the crevices and in the corners. Confidence is not simply my card. It is the spirit within which I need to reside. It is the moving carpet, the protective cloak. It is the inner stamina. Stamina....
The moving back in time took place, now I believe, because of some object. The object was like a gold model of an old punting boat, or a Viking crew boat, something slender and long, perhaps with many oars, perhaps actually now with a cabin, and yet the object morphs in my mind into something I recently found in a bag on the curb outside an apartment in Rittenhouse. A gold Mezuza.
What does the Sh'ma prayer have to do with time?
Who am I running from? How am I redirecting my powers? To what avail?
And then I wake and I am left to gather the possibility that in fact these things are impossible.
No comments:
Post a Comment