Thursday, 10 May 2012

Red Ink

I have been putting off grading my papers for a while now. Now the deadline is upon my head and I have to get this out of the way. Always, when I open out the packets, I find that I have misplaced the red pen. Else the red pens are all dry. I have to make do. The best thing I find, as an alternative, is to use a blue and a black pen. Kids that write in blue get the black, and vice versa. This year, I did okay though. Half way through the exercise, I still have my sanity, and my red pen (new one), handy.

The office is super warm. I sometimes carry the stuff home in a big bag, spread out on my bed, switch on the airconditioning, and aggressively finish the job. I do mean the grading. This time, I have avoided this. Choosing, instead, to embrace further my masochism. The sweat is mostly localised in the base of the palm, and my moustache area (not that I have a moustache. Ugh. One of my mum's aunts does, a luxurious caterpillar). I think I can survive it.

The mind is in one of its whirls. I am neither happy nor sad. I am content, for the most part, except when I am not, and I pity myself for various things. And people that I miss constantly. Some of which at least it ought to be possible to fix, but I am reluctant to make the effort. I embrace the sadness then, and tell myself strictly that I must learn to let go of things, and people, and to find that inner peace. Considering how old I am and all that.

I was browsing last week through my home computer. I was searching for a photograph of my maternal grandfather. Who passed away in 2003, and is very badly missed. We wanted a photograph of him (and my dad, and my husband's grandparents), to sit on our windowsill as we did the housewarming. I saw his photo, scowling, and took it to the printer. As I flipped through the folder though I glimpsed that set of photos of my cousin, my brother.

I have not spoken about him ever I think. Its just too sad. It has been sad like that for years now. And in a way that has not changed much since he passed away two years ago. I felt a familiar lurch in my stomach and my eyes welled up with tears. Him, I cannot avoid missing. He is gone, completely. I recall all our fun times together, and I can only sit and wallow, nothing else to be done. His son writes poetry, they say. I hope to read it someday.

I have had a really jam-packed couple of months. Productive months even. My procrastination tendency is somewhat at bay, and that part of my changed personality, I am enjoying. The needy part that I am trying to work on now, is going well, on the surface. But still the sadness. I swore I would avoid it, really find constructive ways of channeling all that energy I spend in being lonely, and sad, and feeling unloved. Of course its not meant to be easy. For now, my days go by quickly, with some species of routine, so I avoid thinking too much.

Maybe at the end of the summer, will be time for the real red ink. The self-evaluation. This post should help in that. Because one thing I wanted to do was write more (not necessarily here, but its a beginning). Even if it be rambly ill-structured thoughts.   I should not putz around with blue and black pens then, really go for the red ink. Wonder if I have the mental fortitude to handle my own criticisms! Only one way to find out, eh? Adios. 


Simplethoughts said...

channelizing your thoughts and energy elsewhere should do the trick...they say..yeah still finding what will it take for me to forget my dad who died 3 years ago...died of lung cancer... am still finding what will it to take to not be angry cos he left...

well i guess i will oneday...i think as time goes by you will realise that unknowingly you have channelized the energy and are at a better place...

Choxbox said...

I'd need so much red ink the whole inkpot will not be enough so I choose to happily ignore it and get on with life. Someday it might all catch up - oh well.