Control

I wish I could control every aspect of my life. In my youth (and I realize some would argue that my youth is now, although I feel very old and so tired sometimes), I had this vision of myself when I reached the age of 22 as a brilliant, beautiful and jubilantly happy individual; A woman who never felt restrained by the world and people and all the emotional pollution that both produce so prolifically. Once I became an adult, I would not be haunted by physical insecurity, I would not be terrified of looking people in the eyes, and I would have a group of close friends who dropped in to see me in my fabulous and immaculately clean apartment on a daily basis—just like on television.

I was having a conversation with my mother on the phone the other day, and I mentioned to her that my boss recommended I touch the children more—apparently I am too humourless as a teacher (they just don't get sarcasm, is all…) to also be so sterile-seeming as well. I realize this sounds strange, but I am just not used to touching people. My mother is a teacher and she said that with "problem kids" teachers always make physical contact (a hand on the shoulder, or tousling the hair, etc). Well, I was never a "problem kid" and I can't think of a single incident where a teacher laid a hand on my shoulder (a physical reminder that there will be consequences to actions?) without me looking alarmed and pulling quickly away…I was one of those children who "didn't like to be touched." I hugged my grandparents when I saw them because I knew they expected it, it was the chore to remember, my brother, my sister and I, as we patiently waited our turn to participate in this strange and semi-embarrassing hugging ritual. But I never really hugged out of genuine affection for anyone. I refused to be hugged by my parents, as I hated them. Hugs from "the father" (who had a very Machiavellian perception of affection: Fear=Respect. Respect=Love) felt like suffocation; a stranglehold that would cause me to lose my balance on the eggshells we were all walking upon. Hugs from my mother felt unemotional, staid, an action performed more out of her notion of what a mother should do rather than genuine maternal feelings towards me (her depression and my unaffectionate personality allowed her to accept my silence and seclusion as complacency with our "relationship"). I disallowed all physical contact after a certain point, but I think by then, no one in my house really felt much like hugging anyone anyway.

Today, even though I am extremely sick, I went to E-Mart in search of a pharmacy. I explained myself as best as I could, and spoke so the technician could hear that I have laryngitis (I've got next to no voice right now). I was given a couple of boxes of something or other and she threw in a bottle of Korean medicine gratis—a token for the pathetically sick westerner with the runny nose. I tried it—it's repulsive. Anyway, after that I went and sat in the park for awhile, as the weather was actually mild today. I observed people, mostly other women about my age. I felt like comparing…I saw girls with their friends, giggling like maniacs, women with their boyfriends, looking quite comfortable holding hands. Ladies with their babies, bouncing them up and down. These people all looked pretty happy, I thought. These aren't the sort of people who need to work up the confidence to order at restaurants (they butt in front of me in lines and push me out of the subway….lol). These aren't the sort of people who pretend the doorbell isn't actually ringing like mad, if the house is messy and no one is expected. These people don't need to get drunk to make friends. Korean girls hold hands with each other all the time, I've noticed. Drunk Korean men walk down the street with their arms slung over each other for physical support. And that's fine.

I just thought that one day I'd reach a certain point, have a sort of epiphany, see the goddamn light (without going blind like Oedipus Rex), and just not give a fuck about what other people thought about me. One day, I would roll out of bed, realize my place as just another living person on a planet inhabited by 6 or 7 billion more individuals who, when closely examined, were really not all that different despite the latest and greatest in sociological research. I would go about my business approaching life anew. I would be a human phoenix; proof that people can change for the better, proof that youth and beauty can be a reward for destroying a less vibrant self. I would get a kick out of interacting with people—other members of my species. I would marvel at how amazing it is that on a daily basis, I breathe the same air as innumerable people, make fleeting eye contact with possibly thousands. Maybe, that brief second of eye contact or watching someone wait beside me at a pedestrian light will be the only time I ever see that person in my life. And maybe I'll remember what they look like, let that face get imprinted in my subconscious and allow it to somehow work its way into all those dreams I just don't remember. Perhaps in all those lost dreams, we are friends and get together and watch terrible B-movies, and drink Bloody Marys every Wednesday night.

Yes, as a child, I figured that one day I would be in control. My hands wouldn't shake, I wouldn't get headaches, eating wouldn't be an ordeal or ritualized. I wouldn't wonder about how many floors I would have to jump from to still stay alive. The only pills I would take would be bright orange multi-vitamins in the morning. I wouldn't feel inferior to just about everyone. I would grow up and be able to look people in the eyes. Every laugh I heard wouldn't spark paranoid thoughts and potentially unfounded inner seizures of utter humiliation. I would recognize the strengths that I did have and be okay. I would forget the horrible moments of my life, and not hide behind the defence of being a complicated person who didn't get enough attention as a child primarily because she was afraid to ask… When I became an adult, I would be perfect. Nothing would be beyond my grasp. Perhaps I was never really childish enough to actually ever grow up, emotionally. Maybe if I'd been more naive, less exposed to bitterness and rejection, things would be different. But maybe the idea of "perfection" has just become so convoluted in my mind that it itself is my restraint. Maybe my own mind is what's holding me back. If I had never had a vision of a proper life filled with happiness, confidence and purpose maybe it could have happened by now, as I wouldn't have spent most of my life lamenting its failure. Is hope really a constraint then? If I stop hoping for anything to change, will I get what I want—will I have control? If I want to be sociable, if I want to be wonderfully self-satisfied, I can have it, you say, crazy mind of mine…? And if I want to disappear then, I guess I should be able to do that too.

Numb

What can I say, really? Time seems to be progressing quickly and I keep meeting interesting intelligent--as well as irritating and boring--people from all over the place. The problem is that I usually meet these people when I am out drinking on the weekend, and what they learn about me and what I learn about them is most likely terribly skewed by the entirely different personality I seem to develop when I've had 2 or 3 strong drinks.--I'm not even technically supposed to be drinking because I have bad reactions whilst on my pills, but I don't exactly have the best history of heeding 'very good advice.'

I never drink lots--it doesn't take lots to get me really drunk these days. I think I may have even lost a bit of weight since I've been here (don't worry, people...). After 1 strong Long Island Icetea on Saturday, I was ready to become sociable, handled the general bar-flirtations well, and was ever-ready with witty commentary. A veritable social being. After a few drinks, I am quite the intriguing person, I'm sure, but I often wonder how much of my drinking personality is contrived especially for the purpose of communicating with other people. I am not a sociable person, I'm really not--the awful thig is that I'd really like to be. I just can't seem to handle a lot of chattiness, giggling and basically just a general sense of pretend-or otherwise calm when I'm my regular self.

Of course, now that I'm on 'mood-altering' medication, I don't quite know what my "regular self" is at this point. It really bothers me that I can't be like normal people without my daily green and white gel tablet, a bitter little pill which I've come to regard with much contempt. It's in a massive bottle. I've got a year's supply. I don't feel any better since I've e been on them and I've often felt terribly depressed since I've started taking them. Maybe I'm just to stubborn for pills to work. I am sure there must be some psychosomatic loopholes where Prozac is concerned.

My doctor told me that I was to email her every 2 weeks to talk about any potential reactions--I haven't yet...oops. I started on the pills immediately before leaving for Korea, so I haven't been to a therapist or discussed the things I normally would discuss with one in quite a little while. This sad little blog will have to be my therapy. It's almost perverse in a strangely fulfilling way allowing strangers to read my thoughts. It's like whispering things to someone sitting in front of you on the bus. I could disallow it, of course--I think Myspace has that option--but it's almost a little exciting. I'm a little strange that way. Let no one say I never reached out to humanity..

But yeah, my doctor said I might become really depressive while on the pills. She said that if I began to think awful little suicide thoughts I should stop taking them--which seems a little warped to me--rather purpose-defeating.. I have thought about death obviously--my own, I mean, ut when have I not, really? Don't most people at some point consider their options? I haven't fashioned a noose, bought any exacto knives (they all seem to have happy little Asian cartoon characters on them and the idea that I'll die and be discovered next to a knife with a picture of smiling-happy-best-friends-with-freakishly-large-anime-eyes-and-hearts-and-terrible-'konglish' on it makes me feel a little too ridiculous and melodramatic. I think this is just the way I am--This is how I've always been. I guess I'll still take them, like it or not, but a lot of the time, I'm still going to feel terrible.

On Sunday, I stayed in bed all day because I just felt so tired. I didn't feel like eating and I didn't feel like sleeping. I just kind of watched the clock and did some thinking. At about 630pm, I finally peeled myself out of bed, drank some milk and went for a walk. I bought a maroon scarf--exciting, I know--you don't have to tell me!--I need to be more motivated when I shop.

I went home, I went online, watched tv but couldn't really manage to focus long enough to see or understand a show....I do get English television...I just felt really out of it. My eyes feel like they're getting blurry again and I think I may need to find a place to get an eyeglasses prescription here in Korea. I felt really tired and nauseated (maybe I will start having migraines again...?) around 11pm, so I decided to return to the tomb of blankets that my bedroom always inevitably becomes. I was in no mood for consciousness that night, so I took a sleeping pill and was outuntil at least 6 the next morning. I didn't feel like working on Monday, needless to say--The school is always freezing and I'm just not feeling very dynamic at the moment. Go figure...

The Korean English teacher has left, so I don't really know what's going on with classes today. Hopefully I won't have to take over Cathy's duties in addition to my own. There are no other teachers here other than the principal and after my little tantrum, I doubt he likes me very much (it wasn't a full-out tantrum, but I was very confrontational, which I find difficult to do and unpleasant as hell. I felt like I was going to break down in tears--If I actually was able to shed them--that's how awful being assertive for me is...). Anyway, the problem was that my boss neglected to pay me on the 8th--my regular payday (according to my contract). And, on the 9th, he was supposed to take me to register for my Alien card becasue I need it to stay in Korea, legally. He told me that he would come pick me up at 10:30am on Thursday. Of course, he didn't show up and I got extremely upset. When I called his cellphone and then the school and didn't get an answer I began to think he was avoiding me and shirking the what he owed me--like a paycheque and all the clauses promised in my contract. I'd basically run out of cash at this point--I had brought well under $1000 with me to the country, so it's been a pretty frugal 5 weeks.

I ended up panicking, calling a friend and meeting her for coffee and a cigarette outside a convenience store near my apartment. This was at about 12:30 ( I have to be at work at 1:30 and my first class of the day was at 2pm). All of a sudden, my boss appears and asks if I've been calling his cell phone. When I glared at him and stammered the affirmative, he acted all surprised about my mentionning the Alien card. So, in a mad rush, he consents to take me to get it done and we speed all the way to Incheon's Immigration office in utter silence, fill out the paperwork, run up and down staircases rather than waste time waiting patiently for elevators that never come, and then speed ack home to Bucheon in what feels to me like an even more pinched sort of silence. I felt terribly uncomfortable. I asked him about getting paid...He said to me that I'll get it 'today.' However, by the end of the day, I am still broke and go home with a disgusting nervous feeling in my stomache and a sickening 'thudding' sort of headache. I call friends and am given the advice to be agressive, to demand my money first thing Friday.

Friday afternoon, I slink into the office and wait half an hour. I need to work myself up. At 2pm, I knock on the boss' door and ask if I will be paid today. "Yes," he says. "Can I be paid now, then?" "Yes," he says again, but doesn't make any movements towards his desk or wallet or anything. I am becoming very agitated. I say, "Umm...then pay me now please. I was supposed to be paid on the 8th--2 days ago..." I begin to feel a little faint; I am sure I must look green. He tells me I must wait until the end of the day. I consent and go back to my area. I am highly upset at this point. I am fidgetty and angry. I cannot focus on planning any lessons. I waited for another half an hour and knocked again on his door. This time I reminded myself to make eye contact. I forced myself to stick to it. I have problems looking at people squarely. I sometimes blur my eyes to make it easier. I told him that if I wasn't paid by the end of the day, I wouldn't come to work on Monday, that I must always be paid on the 8th of the month, that I don't enjoy being confrontational, but that I equally don't enjoy having to ask to please be paid. I mentionned the contract, how it says the school would pay for me to take a course or join a gym, like the former teacher, Rob did. I told him I wanted to join a gym as well, and that after I paid and registered I would bring him the receipt and expect reimbursement.

At the end of the day, I was paid and we had a conversation about my teaching style (which he knows nothing about). Apparently I need to be more 'entertaining.' I think you might see wherein lies the problem...

I think I want to stay overseas for a little while, but I don't know how enjoyable it's going to be to work for this man. This biggest perk of this job is my apartment, which is really nice. Everything is difficult for me here, but I guess it's still better than being stuck at home.

Sometimes I feel like I've totally missed out on life. Why does nothing bring me joy? My boss keeps saying he's concerned because some students don't have fun in my class. They want to be entertained, he says. I am not an entertainer, I am a teacher, I tell him. If I play games all the time, they'll never learn a thing and only speak in Korean--but I guess they'll still feel like attending (and therefore paying) his institute. Maybe he'll fire me. Fantastic...I'll play games, I guess if it makes him leave me alone. I can't talk to people at work anyway...The other English teacher doesn't really speak English and the boss isn't so great himself. In the other classes the students have at the school, apparently it's mostly translation stuff, so they only speak Korean in class (even though it's a school for learning how to speak conversational English...)--which is ridiculous. I can't really understand Korean yet and don't speak it, so yeah, it's a bit hard for me to 'lead' the class, as requested, when all the students are speaking in a language I cannot understand--probably about me... fuckers are making me paranoid...My boss also mentionned to me today that Rob (the former teacher) spoke some Korean (he was here for a few years and is married to a Korean lady) and that because he is male, the kids probably repected him more. I thought I was doing a pretty good job; the students seemed to understand everything in class--they are ale to have conversations and answer my questions, but if I'm just a boring asshole, maybe I should just go home. I'm feeling pretty bad.

Ghost Pain

I have such a terrible headache today. I think I'm getting sick again. I have a terrible scratchy feeling in the back of my throat, like my esophogus is going to come up and tangle with my tongue. I stayed in bed until 25 minutes before I had to leave for work today, even though I set my alarm for three hours before and cautiously opened my eyes to check on the time every half an hour or so. Getting up has never been so difficult. Today was hard for me. I just felt really out of it. I look kind of peaked today and my fingers are kind of shaking a little too much for comfort. I had terrible dreams last night. I recall two of them..

The first was strange and concerned dad (but most of them that do, generally share that trait). There was definitely more to it, but I only remember the ending, so I am going to write it down now before I forget:

We're in the house at Bolton Centre. Dad is still sleeping in the 'red carpet room' in the basement. I notice mom has been quiet (unusual) a lot lately. I go to ask dad what the problem is with mom and notice dad's hands aren't right. They are artificial--except they aren't--they're just not his. There's 4 fingers on each hand. The fingers aren't normal; they're long and thin, without nails and filed down to points. The skin is light brown and contrast badly with dad's dark skin. "What happened to your hands?" I ask. "Turned green and fell off." "Why?" "I'm being blackmailed," he says, "Your mother, too. If we don't do what they want next, it's my right foot, then my left testicle, left foot, right testicle. They've already taken your mother's womb." "Everything's replaced?" I ask. Dad answers, "It always is."

The second dream is one I've had before and really bothers me--It's terribly graphic and terrifying:

A girl in a short skirt is running and falls down. Her legs open like scissors. No underwear. Vagina opens and I have no idea which way her legs are spreading, but slowly, terribly, so fucking gradually, she is torn apart. Starting from this point, her skin is peeled back, her internal organs are visible, she is like a layered art exhibit. The worst part is that it is all happening so slowly. Suddenly there is no girl. Just a tangle of mush, red. Then I wake up. I go back to sleep, and finally roll myself out of bed when I realize I have less than half an hour to get myself looking presentable and ready to teach children..

I''ve had lots of sleep problems before, but I don't think I've remembered dreams quite so vividly since childhood--I had lots of nightmares then, too. Getting a little scared to sleep. Maybe this is just another issue to add to the list...life is fun.

4 weeks down

I feel incredibly awkward--or rather moreso, here in Korea. My mother called me this morning before work and asked how the job was going. I told her that it was okay--and I suppose it is--but that many students were shy, that I have to teach a group of 7 and 8 year old monsters and that I feel uncomfortable on Tuesdays and Thursdays under the scrutiny and pained expressions (I hope it's not me...) of the mothers' class--a group of women in their early 40s prone to absenteeism, bitchiness and a complete unwillingness to participate. When asked to read out loud, the woman at the first desk simply shook her head and said 'No.' After that, none of the others would either--I guess a sort of precedent--the stigma of being called on--was sort of established in that first class 4 weeks ago (I cannot believe it's nearly been a month and that I'll soon--finally!--be getting paid.). The class has been difficult to teach ever since. I always have to allow them to read aloud together, which makes it far too difficult to hear how well or badly everyone is pronouncing certain words--which of course means I can't single anyone out, correct them and thus, help them learn...and I want them to..It's just frustrating...

But yeah, honestly, on that first class that I taught alone on my second day at work, after Rob, the guy I replaced, left, I was so sick (I had a cold for about a month), could barely speak, and I had the incredibly paranoid sense that I was being mocked by this group of housewives who were ignoring me and speaking amongst themselves in Korean. Finally (perhaps my begging them to 'please try' sounded pathethic enough in myy scratchy, coughing, jetlagged voice), I could hear one voice actually applying some effort over the 3 or 4 others' mumbling incomprehensibly. The voice belonged to a woman calling herself the obviously anglicized name 'Sue'--I have a real problem pronouncing all my students names well--and they don't all choose English names--generally only the younger kids have them (although I have two middle school boys who've chosen to be called 'Lobster'--he thinks it sounds like 'rockstar'-- and Ringo, which are dumb names to be sure, but at least memorable..) Anyway, Sue is the strongest in my mothers' class, was the first to arrive that first teaching day, and essentially was the only participator in class. The others arrived 15 and 25 minutes late for the 1 hour class and I had to re-introduce myself and explain (for the 3rd time) the point of what I was trying to teach them (possibly Wh-Questions, but who knows at this point).

The lady who was 25 minutes late, a very chic looking woman with obvious talent in the make-up applying department, had also forgotten her book...Knowing that I'd been in Korea for all of three days at the time and didn't know a word of the language (I'm borrowing a language CD from someone, because I am so frustrated at not being able to make my point across and always having to go places with other people--or at the very least my sacred Lonely Planet phrasebook), these horrid women would more than occassionally start chatting loudly, talk into their fucking cellphones, and simultaneously break out laughing--at my expense I'm certain...I guess to them I am just some stupid Western girl who looks too young to be teaching anyone let alone a group of married women...Age is VERY important here, as it determines social ranking--everyone asks me how old I am...I don't like it). I felt like utter shit by the end of that first hour. I suppose I'm used to it, but I think it maybe just hurt a little more this time because I was trying really hard to look like the sort of person who should be teaching--a cheerful, patient, diligent type who is unconditionally understanding, perhaps? In Canada, I am none of these things.

In Canada, I rarely smile, hardly make eye contact and never wear color. In Canada, if I leave my house at all, I am always in a rush, never satisfied, and am proudly antisocial. Here, I am just not able to be any of these things. I can no longer use angst as my excuse, which is miserable, as it is my favorite one. haha. No, I guess, so far this experience is making me examine myself even more (yes, it's horrid, even more self-scrutiny--I'm not sure if it's healthy). I'm trying to determine which parts of my personality are legitimate and which parts are just part of the persona I'v assumed...So far, a month later, I can honestly say that I still feel just the same, but am realizing my acting potential (that is--I am not really a patient, calm, organized, 'together' person and I like wearing black for fuck's sake--but for the sake of my job, I will pretend to be a little different)--and I am becoming more sociable--or maybe that's just the Prozac...or the soju...I've been to some good parties at this point, in any case. I've met some interesting (mostly drunken at the time, however) other foreign (Canadian, American, British, Australian, Irish) teachers and a few English speaking Koreans...I guess I'll just say that I've singled out a few people who are more interesting than the others, and somewhat (though not quite) likeminded..It is with these people that I socialize with, mostly. Because without them, I would probably have yet to have seen or done anything outside of the street I live and work on (I've been taken into a different area of Metropoliton Seoul every weekend so far--I plan to go to a museum soon--I have a guidebook and I have actually become brave enough to attempt the subway system on my own without getting hopelessly lost (got there and back--to Yongsan--without incident on Saturday.

Anyway, it's been pretty surreal for me so far. Everyone stares at me, some giggle, lots of guys my age like to say hello..I wonder if the older people resent my presence in their country--outwardly they are very hospitable and polite, but I must admit, I can see where they're coming from--Why should they have to learn English? Although Bucheon does admittedly have plenty of foreigners, walking to and from work everyday, I am the only western-looking face on the sidewalks--when I am brave enough to walk them...Scooters, motorcycles and bicycles all ride on the tiny pedestrian walkway (where vendors are also selling fish, vegetables, chestnuts, etc) and the drivers are really quite unapologetic about very nearly running a person over.

Anyway, you all know I am a paranoid person...Koreans are pretty nice when I try to speak to them directly--sometimes they appear a little too eager to help me perhaps--it makes me wonder if their smiles are somewhat deceptive. Are they smiling because they think I am strange to look at--I often catch little children at my school,who I don't teach, peeking over the frosted glass window of the teacher's room where I hide out when not in class. Maybe younger kids have never seen anyone who looks like me.. So far, though I've obviously taken out the facial jewelry, the holes in my ears and face have been counted, and the issue of 'teacher's face' has created quite the ruckus among my 12-14 year old girls--one in particular (Jin Sun) who keeps telling me that I am 'so beautiful' and that she is ugly and needs to get plastic surgery (it's a big thing here, apparently and I notice it a lot in women) on her face--she says her mother told her she needed to 'change it'--particularly her eyelids (or lack of them) and her nose. Apparently plastic surgery is common here, especially for eyes, because Korean women like to emulate their favorite actresses and pop stars, who of course are not totally outside of the lure of that comparitively young evil--the West.

Anyway, things are getting better than when I first got here..I stayed in today (Sunday), however, because I've just been feeling a little depressed the last few days. I'm not sure the anti-depressants are really helping me, but I'll keep taking them I guess. It's bad, I guess, when you reach the other side of the world and still no real sense of happiness or joy is palpable. I am still victim to all my bad habits, unfortuantely and I struggle to keep my thoughts and my commitments and my obssesive little behaviours separated. Lately, when I am at home and inside, I even forget where I am. I could be anywhere, really, and still be the same. Sleeping is particularly strange for me here and I dream a lot. I've been talking in my sleep a great deal as well and I tend to wake myself up drenched in sweat (but I was told that night terrors would be a side-effect to my pills). I guess I'm a little stressed out with what's recently been going on at home with my parents and court and being filled in on all the gory details of my father's further descent into insanity and scariness. My mother thinks he may have had a stroke. Maya, being Maya, wrote a short, traumatic little story about our lovely homelife as children and wants me to illustrate it--which I will--I have bought art supplies and have done a few sketches--once I feel a little more comfortable---It's incredibly hard to follow everyone's advice and "move on" when they all keep rubbing my nose in it on a daily basis...The nightmares don't help either...More later.

.

I don't really have much to say except that I've wasted reading week being very very very depressed. I have so much work to do and I can't really seem to get started and I am beginning to fear for my life. I am completely isolated as ever, but it seems to weigh on me more. If I die, no one will know about it until I am late on rent. I am being self pitying but it is also a pragmatic way of looking at things as I tend to go weeks at a time without talking to anyone at all. I may get "help" this summer but I'd really rather just disappear for awhile--not that I could afford it--I cannot stand much more of my condition and it seems that things need to change. I don't care for prescriptions but my generally unhappy and morose (yet functionally witty, I might say) demeanour has been replaced with the inability to even fake smile or get out of bed so I don't know. Noone likes you when you're down, not that I've ever been sufficiently "up" or convinced of my being "liked" on any sort of regular basis, so as soon as school ends, don't expect to hear from me for awhile. Best of luck to my friedns I hardly ever talk to.

22 idle years

I wish I could hold together the structure of my thoughts, but they jingle around in my head like tacks, their little red haloes lessen the tiny stings by half. Pity.

I've destroyed myself again and I feel as though my skull bleaches itself without the necessity of death or rot. My misery is a pretty fucking arid place.

I wait for telephones that will not ring and if they do, the voices that speak will come from mouths whose words burn hotly behind stupid tongues that manage to chastise and congratulate in the same tone.

I push everyone and their beautiful deliberate walks away from me, nice things said I roll my eyes.

No flowers--I have allergies.

No chocolates--I am not hungry again.

Nothing heart shaped unless it's still bleeding and in a cool jar.

That's just the way I am. Too worthy to be worthy. Take it away.

Let me rot and wallow in my lonely little melodrama that no one wants to see.

Let my bones protrude and the vein above my eye show through my skin when it becomes like the paper I would be writing this on if it weren't for the convenience of my keyboard

It's got three sticky keys that I have to use a knife to pull uppp.

Let the room fill up with smoke because no one will object if the pack goes down and my lungs dry up.

I'll make the room smell of secrets, here where your words are not heard, no desire needs to ever be felt at all because we leave that at the door here.

Right by the umbrellas that I never remember I have.

Boredom Exercise #1

He made his way down the narrow aisle of the city bus with the painful sort of clumsiness common to the very old. His hips were wide and covered by an ancient looking blue sweater vest, ill-fitting, stretched out, and reaching to his knees. He settled into his seat, without ackowledging either of the two people who, upon his approach, quickly removed themselves from the bench at the front of the bus. This section, clearly marked with red and black stickers, silhoutting photos of an old, stooped over lady with a walker, a baseball capped person on crutches and an exaggeratedly pregnant woman, is taboo for the young, healthy and barren. In the summer this apparent VIP section reeks of body odor, alcohol and the thick perfumes of elderly women in floppy hats who clutch cloth shopping bags and often make conversations with reluctant drivers, attractive teenage girls, or sometimes, in the spirit of the one-sideness of most bus discussions, simply chat and laugh to themselves. Highschool kids at the back giggle, sitting in their little groups of three or four, sometimes slightly too loud for politeness, while professionals, black-jacket-starched-collar-sensible-shoes, look to their peers, engage in a momentary silent and collective eyebrow raise and proceed to shift around uncomfortably in their seats, as though disconnecting themselves from the potential contagion, saturating the upholstery of the seats, that is old age and senility.