December 10-11: Nothingth, Tenth Circle of Hell, Love and Hope

A hole had just appeared in the Galaxy.  It was exactly a nothingth of a second long, a nothingth of an inch wide, and quite a lot of millions of light years from end to end.

The Galaxy opens up and rescues of Ford and Arthur, despite astronomical odds against it.  Improbability simply steps in and saves the day.  It does this many times throughout the book.

I am not going to apologize tonight for my absence yesterday.  I am in currently in the Tenth Circle of Hell, the one that Dante never got to visit.  In this circle, sinners are punished by sitting in hard-backed chair, staring at their laptops, and grading final exams for eternity.  Every once in a while, a bell rings, and the sinners may get up, stretch, go to the bathroom, but they have to carry their computers with them wherever they go, answering e-mails from worried students.  And it goes on and on and on and on and on . . .

This evening, I am meeting with my evening film class for evaluations, and then I am jumping in my car and speeding to my son's school for his Christmas band concert.  (Actually, I think it's called the "Winter" band concert, in which they play "Jolly Old Saint Nicholas" and "Good King Wenceslas.")  My son has been practicing like crazy on his trombone, so much that I think I could play his part in the program tonight, and I've never even picked up a trombone.

After the concert, it's back to grading and writing and grading some more.  I type these things expecting no sympathy.  This is what I signed up for.  I know that.  That understanding doesn't make the end of the semester any easier.  Please keep in mind, also, that, while full-time professors are in their comfortable, quiet offices finishing up their grading, I am cobbling together my grading time in between working a full-time job and parenting and working another part-time job.

If you can't tell, I'm a little overwhelmed at the moment.  Not because it's Christmas time.  Not because it's the end of the semester.  Not because I juggle four different jobs.  It's all of that, combined with some personal drama, that is capsizing my little canoe right now.  I will get through it all, as I always do.

On Christmas Eve, I will go to church, sing "Silent Night" in a candlelit church, and try to absorb some of that peace on Earth.  On Christmas morning, my son will drag us all out of bed before sunrise, and he will lose his mind over the big present coming his way.  And then, I will go play the pipe organ for Christmas morning Mass.  The rest of the day will be spent at my mother's house, opening more presents and eating and watching A Christmas Story and Miracle on 34th Street and It's a Wonderful Life.

I still believe that it's the most wonderful time of the year.  But it is also a time, as Charles Dickens put it, where want is keenly felt and abundance rejoices.  That want can be physical, financial, emotional, or spiritual.  In the words of another writer--this time Henry David Thoreau--"the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation."  That's where I am right now.  Quiet desperation.   And it has little to do with all the grading I have left, and a lot to do with the feeling that I'm losing something that is supremely important to me as this year draws to a close.

I am looking for something brighter and happier as I enter the third decade of the 21st century.  Sometimes, however, finding happiness means enduring sorrow.  Because you can't have day without night.  Good without bad.  Fulfillment without hunger.  The cost of love is grief, because, eventually you will lose what you love, through illness or addiction or death or divorce or Donald Trump (yes, you can blame that man for just about any bad thing in the world today).

But love is worth the grief, because, without love, life would be a pretty lonely place.  I will never give up on love.  That would be like giving up on world peace or ending world hunger.  The best things in life require work.  A lot of it.  Writing a book.  Losing weight.  Exercising.  Being married.  Impeaching the President of the United States.

I will hold on to love and hope this Christmas season (and a little improbability).  I will get my grading done.  Finish writing my Christmas essay.  Buy Christmas presents.  Bake cookies.  Work at being a good father and husband.   Because that's what it's all about--doing your best in everything, despite your flaws and failings.

Saint Marty has plenty of flaws and failings to go around.  He also has plenty of love, as well.

February 13: Facetious Temper, Irritations, Stupid People

Seeing clearly that it would be useless to pursue their point, the gentlemen withdrew.  Scrooge resumed his labours with an improved opinion of himself, and in more facetious temper than was usual to him.

I love the word "facetious" in the above passage.  Using it to describe Scrooge's temper, Dickens gives the reader a picture of a man who kind of revels in his bad mood.  Scrooge has just dissed the two guys who came to his office seeking a charitable donation.  He's feeling pretty good about himself.  Of course, he has yet to encounter the specter of Jacob Marley and all the Christmas ghosts, so he doesn't know what his "facetious temper" has earned him in the afterlife.  In short, Scrooge can abuse the two gentlemen, make fun of the poor and hungry, bully his clerk, chase a Christmas caroller with a ruler, and he can feel good about doing it.  (He sort of sounds like a Republican presidential candidate.)

I'm in a terrible mood this morning.  It may have to do with the fact that I stayed up late watching the Grammy Awards.  It may have to do with the fact that I had to stop at Wal-Mart (also known as the tenth circle of Hell) before I came to work.  It may have to do with the fact that I have so many bills to pay today, and so little money to do it with.  It may have to do with the fact that Whitney Houston died this weekend.  It may have to do with the fact that I have so much work to accomplish this morning, and so little time to do it in.  It could be the accumulation of all of these irritations.

Or it could be the fact that I enjoy being ill-tempered, just like Scrooge.  I don't think that's the case, but my friends and family may argue otherwise. 

Pretty much says it all

I deal with a lot of different individuals, all day long.  Patients.  Students.  Doctors.  Doctors' office staffs.  On days like today, when I start out with a low supply of good nature, I tend to run into a lot of stupid people.  People whom God seems to put in my path just to piss me off.  (These people aren't really stupid.  Well, most of them aren't.  It's all about my skunk-ass mood.)  Unfortunately, I can not be like Scrooge and simply insult these people.  I have to be nice, kind, gracious, helpful.  That's the nature of my occupations, even if I'd rather be mean, spiteful, rude, and dismissive.

Saint Marty better watch his step today.  He may end up on the wrong side of crabby spirit.