I was in quite a bad mood all weekend. Couldn't tell you why, exactly, but feeling very misanthropic indeed. I think it's The Making of the English Working Class. That is a fucking downer of a book - very good, very engaging, but very bleak, and you look at that country now and you know it doesn't have a happy ending, right?
So I refused to see anybody or have civil conversations and instead sewed. A bag, some boxers, tailored some shirts. Read about the disenfranchisement of the weavers. Watched Irma Vep. Thought about all the different ways different nationalities suck. But mostly sewed. It's frustrating and calming at the same time, sewing, or at least it is for me because I don't grasp what I'm doing yet. Getting there, though. The boxers were most exciting because I had never sewn a fly before, and had had no idea how to. There are all these new concepts that are forcing their way into my spatial awareness, which is a bit odd because I haven't been using my spatial awareness much over the past few years.
Although if I think about it, I think the chanciness of my mood has to do with Friday's work meeting where we more or less went through the likelihood that I'll leave in a little more than a year if they're not able to transfer me to the Asian magazine. It was already true before the meeting but saying these things out loud makes them so much more real. And thinking back, that made Friday night sleepless. Well, for about an hour and a half, which counts as a sleepless night by my tree-sloth standards. For about an hour I lay there thinking 'it's lots of money, what are you doing thinking about leaving, you're going to be indigent some day' and then I spent half an hour thinking about all the ways in which I'll avoid being indigent, and then I fell asleep. It hasn't been bothering me since then in an out-loud kind of way, but I think it's been playing havoc with my mood.
10 commenti:
Hmmm, sounds frustrating. Always difficult to find the perfect balance of personal enjoyment & monetary support in a job. I tend to lean towards what makes me happy, but I've got the supportive hubby to fall back on. However, he just asked me this weekend, "What the hell are you going to do when I retire?" I didn't have an answer. I suppose I'll have to take the paying gig that makes me bitter.
Looks like a lovely bag you made. I want pics of your fabric choices! And boxers? Wouldn't mind seeing those either. I understand what you mean about the fly concept. I'm constantly trying to wrap my head around how urine finds itself in the oddest places when it comes to the boys' bathroom. I'm constantly yelling, "Keep your pee in the toilet!!!" I find the whole thing weird.
It is frustrating! I love having a teacher-partner though . . . there's a certain stability there because unless society goes to the eating-each-other-on-the-street stage, he won't be unemployed for long.
I took pictures this morning! Inordinately proud. The bag especially came out well. I'll put them up on flickr when I can find my camera cable. My fabric choices weren't actually 'choices' as such, as I've been having to buy fabric from a charity shop, but what I had for the bag turned out serendipitously.
Yeah, I'm not looking forward to training any sons of my womb how to fucking pee in a fucking toilet. It seems pretty elementary for me - point and shoot, like a disposable camera, and wipe up any spatter - but generations of men have proved me wrong.
I've always blamed the parents for the men who can't clean up after themselves, but after how many years of yelling at my children and still wiping up piss, I'm guessing it's just a plain male laziness gene.
I've got a TON of fabric and since I'm on a purging mission, I should just ship them off to you. I tried sewing dresses for myself and it's just not happening. I suppose you're the lucky winner...
OMG! Mystery fabric! My favourite . . . but only if you have a think about something Belgium has that Illinois doesn't, that I can send in return . . . I can't think of much besides chocolate, waffles, twigs for brushing your teeth with, and extremely strong beer.
ship the strong beer.
The Making of the English Working Class did have a happy ending. The thesis of the book was "When did England have a recognazibly identified thing called 'The Working Class' ", as opposed to "working classes" from different trades and occupations.
More simply, when did the dispossesed in England realise that they had common interests that were inopposition to the bourgeoise.
As a member of the Working Class, I amen Thompson's work in drawing attention to us rather than, say, cecil rhodes or whatever that type that tthose not in th eknow usually patter @ us as examples of peole to look up to.
Much perfer Thomas Hardy, one of the stars of the book. And no, not that Thomas Hardy.
It was Rosen how had me read it - the first book he had me read. Haven't read it in 20y now. But still ...
OMG, I think that was the most coherent thing I've ever read of Hilts. The world is coming to an end.
I know, it was marvellous!
But sorry, Hilts, I still reckon I'm right, mostly because I was talking about the English working class itself not having a happy ending. Not yet, anyways.
But I look forward to the happy ending in the print.
coherent hilts. this is indeed a sign of the apocalypse.
Duck and cover!
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