Sunday evening: really, I tend to write privately in a diary, and anyone who reads it, his or her eyes should burn. I'm interested of course in the notion of public ramblings--like who would want to read the mumblings of anyone else's mind? As soon as I phrase it that way, the question becomes interesting, because those mumblings reflect to some extent uncensored thoughts--and that is interesting. People who peep into other's semi-private mutterings: well, it's like being a peeping tom. Certainly, all of us have some of peeping tom in us: the urge to watch others in their private moments, I suppose so that we can confirm our own normalcy. We like it when we see that they are like us in those moments they can't publicly admit, which are really the moments we have been socialized into hiding.
Right now, I'm avoiding work. I have many email messages I should respond to. I am always behind, and I never have enough time to work on my publications. I don't spend my weekends writing. I need to go mountain biking on Saturday and Sunday. This takes about two hours each day. I love doing this. I love the exercise and riding through the woods, learning how to get more smoothly over logs. I have one very steep gully that I avoid. It's a serious drop and I have crashed there twice. The first time led to about 30 stitches in my left arm. I have been able to drop in their successfully about the last 15 times, but I have to admit to a certain fear, and most days I don't take it. I would rather stay with a smoother ride without too much danger. Today, I got careless, held back on a descent and naturally crashed, tumbled down a gully and smashed my face into a tree. A lesson--as always: with mountain biking, you can't think about where you are; you have to keep your eyes on where you're going. Big mistake to look at where your wheels are--and that's true about life. I love mountain biking--I get mad when I can't do it.
I love writing, too--the only problem with writing is that in my profession, you have to publish. I'm really an unpublishable person, and that's because I am angry in ways I can't express. I am angry at the gross ways in which literacy conventions disadvantage working class kids. Although I don't have to worry about my job security, I may be working out an anger or irritation that quite frankly is illegitimate. As a working class kid, I was always jealousy of the middle-class kids in town. I mixed in with them, but my ability to mix didn't mollify my jealousy. I'm still there today. We working class kids knew we had chances, but we also knew something was wrong with us, and we needed to overcome that wrongness that was very clearly associated with where we came from and in a deep sense with who we were.
OK. I should get to work. Last note: Bush and his crew are really the evil empire. Case of projection. They must have penis problems.
Right now, I'm avoiding work. I have many email messages I should respond to. I am always behind, and I never have enough time to work on my publications. I don't spend my weekends writing. I need to go mountain biking on Saturday and Sunday. This takes about two hours each day. I love doing this. I love the exercise and riding through the woods, learning how to get more smoothly over logs. I have one very steep gully that I avoid. It's a serious drop and I have crashed there twice. The first time led to about 30 stitches in my left arm. I have been able to drop in their successfully about the last 15 times, but I have to admit to a certain fear, and most days I don't take it. I would rather stay with a smoother ride without too much danger. Today, I got careless, held back on a descent and naturally crashed, tumbled down a gully and smashed my face into a tree. A lesson--as always: with mountain biking, you can't think about where you are; you have to keep your eyes on where you're going. Big mistake to look at where your wheels are--and that's true about life. I love mountain biking--I get mad when I can't do it.
I love writing, too--the only problem with writing is that in my profession, you have to publish. I'm really an unpublishable person, and that's because I am angry in ways I can't express. I am angry at the gross ways in which literacy conventions disadvantage working class kids. Although I don't have to worry about my job security, I may be working out an anger or irritation that quite frankly is illegitimate. As a working class kid, I was always jealousy of the middle-class kids in town. I mixed in with them, but my ability to mix didn't mollify my jealousy. I'm still there today. We working class kids knew we had chances, but we also knew something was wrong with us, and we needed to overcome that wrongness that was very clearly associated with where we came from and in a deep sense with who we were.
OK. I should get to work. Last note: Bush and his crew are really the evil empire. Case of projection. They must have penis problems.
posted by Irvin at 6:45 PM
1 Comments:
Do you know of Tillie Olson's work, "Silences"? Gender, economic class and other issues that this post mentioned are explored here.
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