Post 46
So, I am starting to fill my days with activities that don't involve sitting on my ass and wondering what to do.
I still do some of that, but at least now those are billable hours. Ha! Ha! How droll. Oh Mr. Wuthering-Smythe-Doghumperson, I do declare!
I am now tutoring/teaching two afternoons a week at the local community learning center, which has turned out to be surprisingly great. In my three sessions so far, I have taught pre-GED level math, reading, and writing to a mother of two in her 40s, basic literacy to a young lady of indeterminate age (younger than me, older than 12, which is an age range I find hellishly difficult to pinpoint), and GED-level math to an expectant mother, probably in her early 20s. Next week, I am going to start teaching a computer skills class to adults one day a week, which should be a nice little adventure. I've been using computers for so long, it will be an interesting challenge to see if I can explain them to people who have no knowledge of them.
Potentially, I could raise an army of super-genius hackers and take over the Internet. Imagine the riots and mayhem that would follow the complete and utter cessation of free online porn. Legions of pasty, oily ghouls shambling up cobwebbed stairs from their parents' basements, uttering the spine-curdling nasal bleat of the horny adolescent. Adult book and film stores denuded (hehe) of goods, the shop owners smothered by greased-up, hairy palms and left for dead. I would control the flow of raunch, and be invincible!
...
...
Upon reflection, Supreme Overlord of Chronic Masturbators might be a job title I could do without.
Alternatively, I could conceivably help some people acquire skills they could use to get a decent-paying job, which would be almost as rewarding.
I was most surprised, actually, by how quickly I cottoned to the experience. Similar to the way I use the phrase "cottoned to" so casually without knowing what it really means, I was astonishingly comfortable teaching stuff to total strangers.
I don't pretend to know if I was any good, but none of my 'clients' seemed to actively hate me. I have no specific endorsements, since "Was it good for you?" seemed an inappropriate question to pose. However, one of them had a serious "Aha!" moment, and said the way I explained it made much more sense than her regular tutor. The director of the center also seems to think I'm doing a pretty good job.
Feed my ego! Yes, breathe, my friend, breathe! Have a refreshing beverage.
If you don't get that, you need to watch Transporter 2.
It remains to be seen whether I am getting so much satisfaction out of this simply because it's new and I frankly have little else to do, or because it's something that genuinely interests me. For the time being, it is enough for me to know that I am contributing in some small way to the community. Doing it for free somehow makes it better.
Unaccountably, this feels more rewarding (but less delicious) than getting a bag of blood drained out of me every 8 weeks, then gorging on donuts and nachos. That, along with occasionally paying the bus fare for a down-and-out somebody desperately trying to get home to their sick mama, used to be the complete roster of my extensive volunteer work.
Sighting o' the day:
A middle-aged Hispanic woman driving an old, rusty Ford Aerostar type of family van pulls up next to me at a red light. Everything on the car looks worn down and tired, except for the rims, which are mirror-bright and spinning gently on ball bearings. Now that's awesome. Awesome to the max.
Sighting o' the other day:
A car full of college girls starts pacing me on the freeway. I glance over, and they're all staring at me. I return my attention to the road, and speed up a little, slightly creeped out. They keep pace. The next time I look over, they're ready for me, and they all start seat-dancing like crazy. I almost hit the guard rail, I'm laughing so hard. The driver gives a cheery wave, and they speed off, I imagine to brighten up someone else's drive and possibly cause a 30-car pileup.
Reading:
"Jarhead" by Anthony Swofford. This is one of those books that, while not a masterpiece of literature by any stretch of the imagination, is strangely compelling and an addicting read. Much as "Chickenhawk" educated me from ground level about the Vietnam war, so has "Jarhead" done for the first Gulf War.
Odd, since I was there at the time. I think I still have my gas mask somewhere.