As one knows, one is an avid follower of the Radio. Radio 4 anyways. This morning I was listening to a program about West Indian writers and how the BBC gave them a break just after the war. It was a great show. One old guy recalled how he knew this chap who spent all his time in his room playing the card game Patience. He described him as the most bored person he had ever met.
I wonder about boredom. What an awful thing it is for one to endure, particularly when time is finite, up to a point at least. I know in this land, plenty of teachers spends a lot of their time being bored. I know I have. I try to combat the
symptoms when they appear. One tends to get quite good at it, though one still has to fight against the effort that is required to counter the boredom, and sometimes it is too boring to do that. So instead, one lies about feeling every more bored until the boredom factor becomes so great that it actually becomes unbearable, and that even the thought of going to the pool for the umpteenth time becomes less boring than thinking about it. Personally, I haven't been too bad of late and what with baby coming I am expecting, for the first time in my life, to be busy. I do hope not.
Many of the white bums that float and drift about the hot streets of Hat
Yai are bored or boring. They can normally be heard before they are seen but a continuing mumbling grumbling about how awful this is, or that is, or their life is. Sometimes its hard to find someone with anything good to say.
We all drift in and out of routines and habits as the days pass day. I must admit with these morning teaching hours I am currently serving, it does leave the afternoon to get deliciously intoxicated. I can pretty well pull-off the "I'm fine" expression if I met someone. Oi is very kind and only occasionally reprimands me. I think she is just grateful that I am a "stay at home" guy, though by her standards I'm a dirty stop-out. Alas, owing to the cave, albeit a very nice cave, we presently inhabit, I suffer from a constant urge to go outside. Fortunately, and after years of research I am discovering that the upper rear balcony is almost perfect as an open air garden hideaway. One can lie here, with Thai headrest cushion - the one that looks like a
Toblerone, happiness, a glass of stout,
ipod and
acquire a near comatose state of utter relaxation, all whilst listening with hazy comprehension of an on-going
discussion about climate change or dark matter. And I get sunlight to the brain and am able to reflect on the beauty of my humble array of plants, which are dwarfed by the giant "tree-hugger" that Egg gave me years ago. I'm sure his Thai spirit observes its mighty girth with approval, and
dispair at my near death like
com posture underneath it.
I am constantly checking myself right now, as I am profoundly aware that these are my very last days of not being a papa and that for the rest of my life there is going to be someone in the world who is more important to protect than my own self. Daunting. But I would much rather have this than be forever wondering what to do with myself all the time. One nice thing about marrying fairly late (the last train, I call it), is that I can enjoy Part II knowing full well that, wasted or not, continuation of Part I would be deathly boring and should most certainly in my case lead to some kind of monster savaging my psyche and destroying my life for the umpteenth time.
Here's to women, who can save us from ourselves.
Don: Man is always trying to change his reality.
The title comes from a picture I saw Joel scribble during our long stretch together in
Strathfield, Australia. I think Joel had been recruited as some kind of day-sitter for the local kids in the apartment block we were living in.
