Thursday, August 30, 2007

45 seconds

I was just sitting here reading the google search results for "take me anywhere, internet" when I glanced to the right and noticed the wrecking ball outside my window, slowly beginning its swing right toward my house.*



Reader, I am no longer interested in teaching. That's right: the thing that I was certain I would do for the rest of my career no longer inerests me. I have no idea how this happened or why. The most cogent thing I can say about it is that I've lost my ability to say the word "cogent" without a pang of regret that I don't really mean it. Or anything. When I tell my students that language can change their lives, that writing gives them freedom, I no longer believe it.

I am not saying that from an objective standpoint, I am correct. The opposite is almost certainly true: my students can benefit from competent writing instruction, and English classes are a right and practical use for taxpayers' dollars. The rub is that I don't want to deliver anymore.

To review: 22-26 BC Paper mortgage underwriter; 26-30 small business/retail relationship lender; 30-37 English professor - mostly ESL and developmental, grad student.

If you look at the pattern, you'll realize that I am a bit late - usually the wrecking ball tears my whole house down once every four years, at which time I something to do that appeals to some other, probably neglected district of my brain. It has now been seven.

What should I do? I find myself wanting to be a cocktail waittress, or a subway train operator, or a postal worker.*** The overwhelming urge I have is to do physical work - preferably work where I can punch a clock every day, go home and forget all about it. **

I figure I've got about 45 seconds until my house is knocked down to dust, at which point some kind of decision must be made.

Any ideas?


*it's a metaphor. And no, I don't give a damn about those anymore, either.

** I might make ane excellent secretary, too. Hiring, Lola? Pax?

*** Truth be told, all I really want to do anymore is climb. I have no idea how this happened. A year ago, I was afraid of heights and I could barely cross the street without looking nine ways. I have changed. Obviously.

3 comments:

Woodrow said...

What I do bores me too. Like a whore, I just do it for those dollars.

Mike said...

You like to write and climb, why not write books or guides about it like "Lonely Planet from up there"

Lola said...

You might have the "qualifications" to teach...but my love your talents are endless.
You'll find the one you want to stick to, just have patience with yourself.
And I speak for all of us disorganized fools who could use your organization and attention to detail in our lives.
Until then, let's have some good white wine and chill!
:-)