TAO OF LAZY

I’m working my ass off. I’ve got 32 hours of class every week plus three of tutoring to say nothing of prep time. For those of you who’ve never taught, class time is a lot harder than it might seem. Imagine trying to keep 40 some odd children (2 year olds to 18 year olds with varying levels of the subject your teaching) who really, really don’t want to be there enraptured for 45 minutes at a stretch while imparting some knowledge. The closest job I’ve ever seen to the "class" piece of teaching is comedy improv. To be an effective language teacher, you must not only be able to break the language down to something similar to their native tongue (and comprehend when it comes back to you in said form) but understand their physical mannerisms as well so your pantomime is effective.

This isn’t the hardest job I’ve ever had, by a LONG shot, but it is definitely time consuming and tiring. The fact that there is no such thing as a "Sick Day" or "Personal Day" or "Single Day Holiday" between the first week of October and the end of February does nothing to help the "tiring" piece.

Last night (12/8) I had dinner with a fellow teacher. She teaches physics. We were both complaining how tired we are but she insisted she had it worse than me. She declared she has seven, SEVEN, hours of classes and how students constantly whine, "Ting bu dong" (Roughly: "The words coming out of your mouth are a foreign language I do not understand" not, "I don’t understand the concept"). Her argument was that I knew nothing of her suffering because English is just a language and students are good at that.

I explained that seven, SEVEN, hours was, to me, "Monday." Considering how limited her English is, I didn’t even bother making the argument that not only do I not have a common language with the students, the very common ground I work to carve out with them is the very thing they whine, "Ting bu dong" about. To say nothing of the fact that she has a curriculum. I not only have to come up with my lessons, I have to generate my curriculum, find all my source material, teach the vocabulary of all subjects and do it all with no real support system at home (she’s married to a physics teacher and has the darling, bright teenage son who wishes I had a younger sister) while I’m the town’s sideshow freak.

After that discussion, I have vowed never to tell another person their job isn’t nearly as hard as mine is. You just never know, right? But, at least I know I’m earning my keep in my lavish apartment and exorbitant salary.

Nonetheless, I went home last night to my one steady support system (the internet) and had a nice back and forth with an old friend from Reed College. It’s always such a relief to hear from people back home. I’m slowly gaining real friendships here but I miss friends who wouldn’t question the idea of staying in my home when they were in a town I lived in. I miss the reality of their lives. I miss the good and the bad. Here, for so long, potential friends keep up the faÁade of gaiety for the benefit of society. Talking with people back home taps me into the full spectrum of life as I recognize it. Talking with my friend last night was great because it reminded me that our dynamic is still alive, despite the occasional beating and drifting.

After chatting with him briefly, I hopped in the shower and tucked myself into bed. From bed this morning, I watch the sky explode into color as the sun rose through the window seat by my bed. As the color faded and the light grew steady, I slipped back into a nap. I got up, ready to do my Saturday morning chores of (hand washing all my) laundry, hanging it to dry, finishing any dirty dishes I’ve been to lazy to clean, thoroughly soaping down the apartment and cleaning every nook and cranny. I stumbled sleepily into the bathroom off my bedroom and turned on the light.

But the light did not illuminate anything. "Shit, I hope the bulb isn’t blown. I don’t know where to get another bulb… to say nothing of the fact that I can’t reach the light and don’t have a step stool or a screwdriver to undo the fixture. God, I really am a helpless girl sometimes."
I went back out to the bedroom to test the light, praying that it didn’t light either. It didn’t.
"Okay, so the power’s out." I thought and returned to my (very) dark inner bathroom. I turned on the water to splash some water on my face and the faucet yelled at me once it burped up the last of the water in the pipes.

I walked to the other bathroom and tried the tap. Nothing.

"Okay, so no water."

I went to my office to check my email briefly as the internet works even if the power doesn’t.
But not today.

Consequently, I made myself a little breakfast of grapefruit, bread, lukewarm hot coco (with the power out, the water heater isn’t heating) and tepid water and flopped back down in bed. I had planned on being industrious to forget the date I have this afternoon with Z but my apartment is hell bent on making me lazy.

So, I spent the morning in my bed (that feels more and more luxurious with each passing day) listening to my iPod and the children below my window play in their little playground. There’s something distinctly pleasurable about knowing that you’ve done all you can do to get done what you need to do and then just having the morning to indulge in nothing at all. The last time I felt like this, I was on a train heading home after college. Having survived another semester of masochism, I shipped myself out of California’s Bay area to the bright lights of NYC. I loved taking the train because, for the better part of a week, there is literally nothing to do but "be" on the train. If you have a sleeper car, your meals and bed are taken care of for you. You are left to your own devices and with no phone, internet or sights-to-see, you must simply be. It feels distinctly earned.

And this morning felt distinctly earned. I can’t run about and do errands because I have a date this afternoon and won’t be back in time for it if I go out. I can’t get my housework done because the city has turned off our area’s power and water until midnight tonight. So I can be lazy. I must be lazy.

God, I love it.

****

So, no date. He gave me the wrong mobile number and he wasn’t where we had planned to meet. So no date. Crap.

Well, at least I get to tease him on Monday. While I would have preferred the date, the bonus of being able to silly-play at being offended, act all coquettish and then let him earn his way back into my good graces is almost as appealing. I don’t come from Vaudeville stock for nothing.