January 14 Simple Notion of Calm, Humanity, Fed-Up

...[Dominguez]'d call Ives Eduardo, never Edward, and would sit at lunchtime writing out certain words in Spanish, alongside their English counterparts, on a pad of paper.  In his foundling's loneliness Ives tended to associate such simple kindnesses not with foreign lands, not with bent-over white-haired men with exhausted eyes and filthy lead-blackened fingers, but with a simple notion of calm and, perhaps, love.

This book is full of notions of calmness and love.  There really isn't a "bad" character in the entire novel.  There are flawed characters who do horrible things.  They cheat on their wives.  Murder choir boys on church steps. Beat their children.  But there is also redemption and forgiveness.  That's why I love Mr. Ives' Christmas.  Nobody is completely good, and nobody is completely evil.  Everyone is human.

I like to think I'm a good person.  I love my kids and wife.  I work hard.  I go to church on Saturday nights and Sunday mornings.  I pray all the time.  Yet, I also struggle with emotions like anger, jealousy, lust, and envy.  I covet people's cars and clothes and money.  I envy people's jobs and careers.  I judge people's talents and good fortunes.  Somebody wins some kind of literary award or title, and I immediately think, "Well, sure.  He's an asshole." 

I try to be kind and understanding.  I try to do and say the right things always.  But I'm human.  And, tonight, I'm tired and crabby and a little overwhelmed.  I don't feel like being a good person.  I don't feel like thinking of other people's needs first.  I feel like being selfish.  I wonder if Mother Teresa ever wanted to just lock her bedroom door and ignore the world for a little while.  Even Jesus Christ had to sneak off by himself every once in a while to get away from his needy disciples. 

It feels like nobody understands my need to be not-nice sometimes.  To say "no" when asked to do a favor.  Because I'm supposed to be positive and happy all the time.  Tonight, I'm a little empty of the milk of human kindness.  I've used it up.  My well is dry. And, because I'm not feeling generous or understanding, my wife if angry at me.  My humanity is on full display tonight, and it isn't pretty.

Saint Marty isn't a saint tonight.  He's exhausted and a little fed-up with the world.

Jesus being a little human

April 11: Wilhelm Stekel, Live Humbly, a Cause

Mr. Antolini (yes, I'm talking about him again) quotes psychoanalyst Wilhelm Stekel to Holden near the end of The Catcher in the Rye:

"Here's what he said:  'The mark of the immature man is that he wants to die nobly for a cause, while the mark of the mature man is that he wants to live humbly for one.'"

For some reason, this quote has been stuck in my head all day long.  I am not humble about certain things in my life.  Anybody who knows me well will back me up on this.  I'm not humble about poetry.  If I think a poem or poet is crap, I have no problem voicing this opinion.  I have similar feelings about literature and books and movies and music.  Also, I like attention.  If I write a good poem, I want people to tell me how good it is.  Actually, if I write a bad poem, I want people to tell me how good it is.  I like being validated.  Everybody does.

A year-and-a-half ago, I entered a poetry chapbook competition.  Now, I try not to get my hopes too high when I do stuff like this.  I know there are a lot of good poets out there, and I also know that there's a large degree of subjectivity in the selection of the winners.  It all depends on who's judging.  Well, needless to say, I didn't win the competition.  About four months after the winner was announced, I received a copy of his chapbook.  I will try to say this as politely as possible.  Ummm, let's see.  It sucked.

I've spent a good deal of time licking my wounded pride since then.  Now I'm about to enter another chapbook competition.  I've done my research.  I looked up the names of previous winners and read some of their poems.  I have a good idea about the poetic taste of the sponsor of the contest.  I'm prepared.

Getting published is my cause right now.  If I ever hope to get a full-time position at the university, I need to publish.  A lot.  I would be able to decrease the number of jobs I currently have, and my kids would be able to go to college for free.  All those things are causes for me.  But I have to prove myself as a poet/writer.

I know my cause isn't exactly selfless.  In fact, it's pretty selfish.  But human beings are basically selfish creatures, unless you're talking about Nobel Peace Prize winners, conservationists, most pastors and priests and nuns, and, of course, saints.  I tell myself that the reason I want to win a poetry contest is for my family.  They will have a better life if I win a chapbook contest.  Not only will I get a publication, but I'll get $1000 as well.  That's a lot of groceries and dance lessons.  I will be humbly blessed.  Of course, I'm lying.

Saint Marty wants to win a chapbook contest simply because he wants to be a winner.  And he wants to make other people feel inferior.

This would get me a job at the university

April 2: Trying to Remain Positive

I'm a lucky guy.

I have a partner in the medical office who is the best coworker a person could hope for.  She's supportive, hard-working, positive, and funny.  She also has three small children, one of whom is only six months old.

I've known for a while that one of her goals for a long time has been quitting her job.  She wants to be a stay-at-home mom.  I don't blame her.  Her husband makes good money.  If I could stay home with my daughter and son full-time, I would.  It would be a great gig.

Today, she made her plans a little clearer.  She's going to sell her current house, which is gorgeous, and buy a house and parcel of land next to her parents' home.  It will drop her mortgage payment enough to allow her to stop working.  And, at that point, I will want to open a vein.

Yes, I'm selfish.  Yes, I'm jealous.  You see, I've wanted to sell my house and get a new house for, oh, about five years or so.  My coworker, in the time I've known her, has accomplished this feat twice.  If I owned her current abode, I would never want to leave my house.  Ever.  That's the jealousy. 

The selfish is not wanting to lose her as a coworker.  She makes my life so much easier and happier.  If I end up a solo act in the business office again, it's going to suck in the suckiest suck way possible.

One of my other coworkers asked me at lunch, "What are you going to do when she leaves?"

It was a question I wasn't prepared to answer.  It was a question that I thought was a little mean.  It was a question that simply took the wind out of my sails.

Saint Marty is trying to remain positive.

Jealousy is an ugly thing