It’s like my mind shuts off entirely when the end of the day arrives, the flip of a switch.
Not an hour ago I was impatiently waiting for the moment when the kids would be asleep and all would be quiet because there was a fully-formed idea of some sort or other that I very much wanted to type out. I even had a photo mentally chosen—and thought that I could find it in the archive in a reasonable amount of time.
So here we are maybe fifty minutes later, and—nada. What was it? What was it all about? I have absolutely no idea. It’s like I’ve never had a thought in my life.
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I both need and want a promotion at work. I have pressed a bit. I need to press more. I am beginning to become concerned.
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Went to see “Alice in Wonderland” at the local theater company today. An original production. And, I am sad to say, not nearly as good as “Frog and Toad” just a few weeks ago.
In fact, not even in the same genre of thing.
But the kids loved it anyway. They love the theater. This makes me happy. As years recede from you, most of the contents of days, then months, then entire years disappears from memory. I barely remember anything from undergrad.
© Aron Hsiao / 2017
And yet from the images and fragments that remain, many of them are either films seen in the film department for credit, or theater performances attended for pleasure using my student discount.
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Chaperoned a field trip yesterday that took place on the local university campus.
It was just bowling, and burgers afterward. Perfect for two young kids, who thought it was all quite amazing.
For me, it was torture. There were moments when I thought I would vomit. Being back on campus. Looking around at the students and their laptops and notebooks, seeing the tweedy professors standing on line to buy their salads. Bustle. Study.
That was my place and that was my calling. And I have lost hold of it. It is a rip in the fabric of space time, a not-right.
I am not a bitter person by nature. I leave that to my ex. Very, very few things make me bitter. But if there is anything in life, any moments on the calendar that threaten to leave hints of bitterness on my tongue, it’s those moments in which I’m reminded of the career sacrifices that I made for my marriage.
I had to come home and take a few deep breaths. Bitterness serves no one. What’s done is done. But the outcome—the way things are—is wrong. Was not meant to be. Will never be right. Is a miscarriage.
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Tomorrow, we attend a magic show. In 41 years, I’ve never been to a live magic show. I’ve attended almost every other kind of event conceivable, paying and non-paying, but not a magic show.
The kids are excited.
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The days are flying by. Time is short.