Masochistic Perceptions, Trials and Truths

These are my cyberfied cerebral synapses ricocheting off reality as I perceive it: thoughts, opinions, passions, rants, art and poetry...

Friday, October 06, 2006

Masochism World

Another week in the trenches teaching and, though I’ve not consulted with a calendar, I reckon that we are due for a full moon based on the behaviour of my students and my wee one at home. I’m a bit on the frumpy side this morning as I have the cold that everyone else seems to have, and it’s one of these infections that shows itself, goes away almost entirely, then returns, moving from the head and throat and into the bronchials. If I was religious, I’d ask the Church or Mosque or whatever (as my union representative) to consult with (G)god(s) and see if we couldn’t simply have our sick time tacked on to the end of our lives where we can opt to either dwell in misery or simply save money and die early. Alas, it just doesn’t work like that.

Further to my frump, our four year old had a tantrum at 05:45 this morning – very much in the egocentric phase of development where the ‘self’ is on some kind of hyperbolized cerebral steroid or whatever you want to call it.

I know, in the end, one must make light of such situations. As Buddhist teachings tell, there are some things we simply must accept (getting sick, growing old, etc.), so, vent, make light and get over with it. Certainly, if I want to expand my thoughts beyond my own little egocentric self, I am quick to realize that I’m very fortunate overall. I look to my Mom who is recovering from breast cancer (just finished her radiation and all the diagnosis are excellent), one of my friends had to have surgery last year for prostrate cancer, and another of my close mates is having the same procedure done in two weeks time. Then there’s the rest of the world. Life really is fucked-up when you look at it, and, with all the trials and tribulations accentuated by suffering, one quickly sees why many turn to religion in an effort to make sense of it all. Leads me to dwell on Sartre and Camus who examined the premise: “because we die, life has/ has no meaning.”

…Wow, I’m thinking way too much with only two sips of coffee in me! Sure, it’s not life that’s fucked-up, but rather me! Think I’ll make my best of it this evening while my wife is out at volleyball and the wee one is in bed. I’ll try my new “deep cold voice” out in my basement with my guitar and try a to re-invent Mr. Egg Paranoid (my stage name from my days fronting Ick On Fish in the mid 1980’s) with a spot of 15 year old Glenfiddich – pure Poguetry and masochism! Yeaaaahh.ach-ach-ach-ach…..


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