In old Norse times, the thrones of the sea-loving Danish kings were fabricated, saith tradition, of the tusks of the narwhale. How could one look at Ahab then, seated on that tripod of bones, without bethinking him of the royalty it symbolized? For a Khan of the plank, and a king of the sea and a great lord of Leviathans was Ahab.
Some moments passed, during which the thick vapor came from his mouth in quick and constant puffs, which blew back again into his face. "How now," he soliloquized at last, withdrawing the tube, "this smoking no longer soothes. Oh, my pipe! hard must it go with me if thy charm be gone! Here have I been unconsciously toiling, not pleasuring- aye, and ignorantly smoking to windward all the while; to windward, and with such nervous whiffs, as if, like the dying whale, my final jets were the strongest and fullest of trouble. What business have I with this pipe? This thing that is meant for sereneness, to send up mild white vapors among mild white hairs, not among torn iron-grey locks like mine. I'll smoke no more-"
He tossed the still lighted pipe into the sea. The fire hissed in the waves; the same instant the ship shot by the bubble the sinking pipe made. With slouched hat, Ahab lurchingly paced the planks.
Nothing is soothing Ahab's tempest-tossed mind. He paces. Berates his crew. Doesn't sleep. He can't even find solace in smoking his pipe, and so he tosses it into the sea, where is hisses and sinks in the wake of the Pequod. And paces and paces and paces.
I do feel a bit like Ahab this afternoon. Ill at ease. I tried to relax at lunch by reading. It didn't help. Couldn't concentrate on more than four or five words without my mind wandering over the list of chores I have to accomplish before I go to bed tonight.
Please forgive my absence from blogging last weekend. I was on the road. I went with most of my family to see a traveling production of Les Miserables in Appleton, Wisconsin. It was the first time my nine-year-old son had ever seen a Broadway-quality show. I was a little concerned, since my son has ADHD and usually has a hard time paying attention to a full episode of Teen Titans Go! Like myself and Ahab, his mind doesn't rest a whole lot.
However, my son lasted the entire three hours without asking to go to the bathroom or opening his Nintendo Switch. For the last twenty minutes, he was sobbing in his seat. (Spoiler alert: almost everyone dies at the end of Les Miz.) He was practically inconsolable. Thank God there was a curtain call so that he could see that all of the actors were still alive and kicking.
Today, I have been playing catch-up from taking Saturday and Sunday off. Lesson Plans. Quizzes. Grading. Midterm grading. It seems as though my mind is like a nervous robin, looking at the sky, not really sure if it's winter or spring. I haven't had a real moment of peace since I woke up this morning. If you can't tell, I suffered/suffer from ADHD, as well.
As a kid, I was never really diagnosed. It was a different time. Instead of being ADHD, I was labeled "energetic" and "unfocused." I bounced from one obsession to another. Taught myself how to sit down long enough to do my homework or read a book. Taking piano lessons helped quite a bit, as well. Piano was something that really quieted my mind when I was an adolescent and teenager.
Sometimes though, like today, my ADHD brain kicks in, and I find myself scattered--a pile of leaves blowing in the breeze. I'm not sure how I'm going to make it through teaching this afternoon and evening. I can barely stay seated at my desk now to finish this post. I have started and deleted sentences five times since I began this paragraph. I can't see my way to the end, don't know what I'm trying to say.
I need a little grace. Possibly some caffeine to center my brain a little. (Caffeine tends to have the opposite effect on kids/people with ADHD. It calms them down.)
Saint Marty is thankful this afternoon that he . . . okay, that thought is gone, too . . .
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