Written after the first semester:
I am almost seized by anxiety – for everything that I’m doing. It is 2018 and I am here, writhing in my seat, gnawing my nails anxiously. I have not changed for the larger part of it.
What is at stake? A job I view with some displeasure. I can’t say great displeasure, because it is undoubtedly enjoyable at times. In this rather short, but also rather long escape from my toiling half of the year, what have I learnt? I certainly would not enjoy working as a museum guider, one who stands around and reminds viewers not to take photographs or touch artworks with their clammy fingers. I do enjoy what I’m doing — but? But what? I feel a bubbling frustration and a desire to reclaim my life, to reclaim my weekends, and the days after work. I find a sinking heart at the thought of my long 12-hour days, where I get home at 7+, dinner by 8+, sleep at 10 after some mindless scrolling of my phone. How can I seek a better balance of what i want?
I know, I’m lucky to be able to foresee the periodic tides – high, and low. Maybe I just need better scheduling. But maybe, this is just not good enough.
On this trip I’ve read: Of love and Laughter by Milan Kundera, How To Stop Time by Matt something, and the classic Old Man and the Sea.
I’ve watched: Wonder, Taxi Driver, Logan’s luck(?) in Havana, Virunga, lots of Cuban history clips, The Greatest Showman, the Suffragettes, the Square… not bad.
I feel so burdened by my displeasure. Why am I so unhappy? I think this discontentment could be due to my lack of exposure, possibly a lack of appreciation. or is it?
Dreaming of the aerial chunks I wanted to visit – Mexico and the USA, El Salvador, Turkmenistan, Guatemala,