Today was my very last day as an elementary school teacher. The school closes down at the end of the week.
I think my friend Katie posted this link on Facebook, and I just couldn’t let it go. The capital letters are annoying but it’s all true.
Hello loneliness, my old friend. If you know me, you know that I pretty much am the embodiment of loneliness. For all intents and purposes, I’m a shut-in who only emerges to work and occasionally dance.
I looked at this list, and in random order, here are my reactions to the bullet points:
- Maybe not Neflix, but YouTube.
- Not exactly, but yes, in other ways.
- Oh my gosh, yes!
- I have no idea what this means.
- I hope not. I don’t think so.
- Usually the opposite happens for me, but I can see it happening to other people.
- Not applicable to me.
- Absolutely. You have no idea.
- Sadly, yes, at times.
- Exactly, exactly, exactly, especially in the digital age.
- I actually cannot do this.
- Yes, no matter how much it sucks and no matter how much anyone tells me so.
- I believe this, but usually I have a hard time doing it.
- This is hard for anyone to do, but once I do it, I sound/feel/look stupid.
- Yeah, pretty much.
Food and I have always had a tenuous relationship. As I sit here, on my couch, I contemplate all my eating choices, just about constantly. I feel like I eat too little, then eat too much of the wrong things, then eat too infrequently, and then I get headaches and stomachaches.
So, here is everything I love putting in my face in hopes it’ll make me feel better. If this was all I could eat for the rest of my life, I’d have absolutely no problems. Coincidentally, it’s also all probably terrible for me.
- Just about anything chocolate
- A sprinkled donut from Dunkin’ Donuts
- Twizzlers Bites
- Bridge mix
- Malted chocolate balls
- Chocolate chip cookies
- Pretzel Bread
- Sushi rice
And this is why I have problems.
So, normally I don’t do this – or at least not here, that is – but I just have to say it. I’ve been super down lately. This blog is about stories and fun and jollity and stuff like that but I haven’t been feeling it, so it’s time for a get-real post. And if you don’t like these kinds of posts, you can come back tomorrow for something different.
It’s just been really weird for me lately. Spring semester is going along pretty smoothly, I have several conference papers to work on, along with an article and thinking about prelims, but I’m just not feeling it. I don’t know if it’s the body image issues I’m going through right now, or general loneliness, or depression, or stress, or just “winter malaise” of single-digit-weather Wisconsin. But something is just not right in Jacob World, and it’s bugging me.
“Ya wanna blog about it, Jacob?”
Well, that’s kind of what I’m doing. I guess. I don’t know.
I’m just grateful that I haven’t been totally alone for too long this week; WeKache was here to visit, and then I had lunch with the Gellers, which is always super nice, and maybe we’ll hang out tomorrow, and then on Purim on Wednesday.
I guess I’m just nervous about the show. This coming weekend I’m committed to be in the theater from 9 AM to 7 PM on Saturday, and then 10 AM to (potentially) 11 PM on Sunday. Then, after next Monday off, I’m in the theater for at least part of the day every day for the next seven. And then there’s everything else…film festival…APO…dance…school…
Wow, what a disappointing 400th post.
Oh, and there are two different dresses. TWO DIFFERENT DRESSES, PEOPLE.
Last night, the fire alarm went off, and since it was two in the morning and there was no way I was going out in the SNOW (yes, it’s snowing here), I took that as time to wash the giant pile of dishes that has been piling up in the sink. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I had two wine glasses sitting behind the sink, and as I took a clean bowl out of the dishwasher, I knocked one into the sink.
Now I only have nine wine glasses. Wine glasses that came from my grandmother, that survived the moves from Baltimore to Houston to Madison to Madison again, plus countless people (okay, maybe like fifty) who have used them since they have been in my possession.
And just like that, one tipped over and broke, right into the sink, where it was easy to fish out the pieces with a cloth and throw them into the garbage like last week’s beer bottle.
It’s just a glass, and it’s not even that special; my grandmother probably got them at a department store or something. I could probably even find the same pattern online if I tried hard enough. It was just the shattering of the glass that made my heart judder, just a little bit. I’ve been a bit edgy lately, nervous, anxious, ready to go home but not ready for all the work I have to do before then, worried about friends and family, feeling somewhat lonely, and lazy because I’ve only danced twice this week and haven’t been to the gym at all. I’m just living my life.
Oh well, at least I got to do my Florida Evans impression to myself in my apartment.
To those of you who didn’t read my previous post with this title, click here.
This doesn’t really fall under the category of book review, but after reading her book, I felt a kinship with Ronnie Spector.
I cheered for her when she had victories; I felt for her when she endured emotional pain, physical pain, mental anguish, and heartache. I’m not locked away in a mansion in the Hollywood hills, but in my normal life here in Madison, I tend to be my own prison guard and lock myself away from the world. Being alone has its positives: time to imagine, to reflect, to celebrate yourself, but if you’re not careful, the negatives can come out, leading you through dark paths and down steep slopes. When she had no audience, she turned inwards, which ultimately did more harm than good.
Mental illness is not an easy topic to talk or write about. Reading her words, however, made it seem more tangible and understandable. She writes about all the times she felt dark and all the circumstances that left her feeling that way. Though it was not discussed in depth, her sister Estelle also endured mental illness, of a different kind. It is fortunate that Ronnie was able to share these with the world; unfortunately, we’ll never read about the times and traumas of Estelle. I admire her search for herself, which continues to this day. She’s still got it, rockin’ and rollin’ all the way to the Hall of Fame as seen in her acceptance speech, but constantly navigating through the roles of musician, parent, friend, and person.
The biggest thing that I’ll take away from Ronnie Spector is the concept that you are not a bad person. She includes these words several times throughout her book. In times of failure, she asked God what she did wrong, citing her missteps and misfortunes: the downfall and breakup of the Ronettes, her attempts at a solo career, her failed marriage, her inability to conceive Phil Spector’s child, her failed attempt to reunite the Ronettes, and her troubled relationships with her family members. I would like to apply these words to myself.
Just like Ronnie said, despite my faults, my failures, my faux pas, and all the people who dislike me, I am not a bad person.
Oh, and be my little baby.
Dear Ronnie Spector,
Please come do a concert in Madison.
Baby I love you,
Today, it rained in Madison. I mean rained. Also today the bodies of three teenagers – Eyal Yifrach, Gilad Sha’ar, and Naftali Frenkel – we’re found half submerged in a field near Hebron. One of them, Frankel, was also an American.
As I sat in traffic, watching the water flood the streets and the gutters, I couldn’t help but think about the situation. I try to distance myself from the sadder side of politics, but I couldn’t get this out of mind.
How could this happen? Who did it and where are they? Why isn’t it on the news here in America? What if things were different?
Sone people say that tremping, or hitch hiking, is what killed the boys. No, a person or people killed the boys. So many people that I know in the West Bank rely on hitch hiking to get into Jerusalem due to limited bus service; it’s something that you wouldn’t let your kids do in America, but in Israel, people are taught to trust strangers and help one another.
Then there is the issue of Palestinian deaths due to this. I don’t know the whole story there, but I do know that there were people among their ranks who knew information, including the identities and whereabouts of the suspected murders. By refusing to divulge such information, it makes them accessories to the crime. Killing people is wrong, but when there is a refusal to cooperate with authority, that doesn’t solve anything, and at least here in America that’s not something taken lightly. Not to mention that their Hamas comrades were celebrating the murders.
Next, my thoughts turned to America, and Americans abroad. One of the boys was American, but no one made a statement about him, and no American troops or diplomats were instructed to take action. I have so many American friends living abroad – not just in Israel, but also in places like India, China, and Togo. What if it were one of them? I was once an American living abroad…what if the victim were me? Who would come to my defense?
Another thing: something tells me that if the American were a teenage girl instead of a boy, news outlets would have been all over it like Jessica Lynch. What if it had been Natalie Frenkel, good white Jewish girl from Brooklyn, instead of Naftali Frenkel?
This turn of events causes so much uncertainty in my life and the lives of others. But if one thing is certain, it’s this. No question will change anything, and no answer will bring these three back to life.
There are few times in my life when I’ve been really afraid for my life and my long term future. My parents had JFK and the Cuban missile crisis. I had September 11th, the anthrax scare, the number 22 bus bombing, rising antisemitism in Europe, campus shootings, but then this happened.
If I ever go abroad for research or to live, will I truly be alone? Will I be swept out to sea like so much rain down Johnson Street?