#oneaday Day 158: Obligations from 30+ years ago

I have a recurring dream. I am told it is quite a common one — or variations on it are, anyway — but I’m going to talk about it regardless, because I’ve been sitting staring at a blank page for half an hour and haven’t been able to think of anything else to write today. So indulge me, if you will.

In my recurring dream, I am back at my secondary school. I am hanging out with my friends from that time, which is 30+ years ago. And I am not attending one of the music group rehearsals that I’m supposed to be participating in after school. I am, apparently, deliberately not attending it, and I am standing in a place with my friends that is within line of sight of the music block. My music teacher Mr. Murrall is standing outside the music block with his arms folded, just staring at me with a disapproving expression on his face. I feel bad. I feel guilty. And yet I do not — cannot — walk over there, apologise for whatever reason I have not showed up to rehearsals, and get back involved.

This dream is sometimes complemented or accompanied by a scenario in which I am preparing to go on stage, either to perform a piece of music or act, and I absolutely have not practiced the thing I am supposed to be performing. If I’m supposed to be acting, I don’t even know my lines a little bit. If I’m supposed to be performing, I don’t really know the piece of music and, usually, my instrument is not in any condition to be played. For some reason, the musical variation of this dream always involves the clarinet, which was always my “second instrument”, and the problem is usually that the only reeds I have for it are in an absolutely awful state that would make playing near-impossible.

These sorts of dreams are clearly anxiety-related. I suspect they may also stem from a sense of mild guilt that I don’t do as much music in my free time as I used to — though I have been a bit better since we got the new piano, and my Mum has been kind enough to purchase me a frankly absurdly expensive new stool as an early Christmas present, so that will make me even more likely to make time to play. I haven’t touched the clarinet or saxophone for years, however; since both are instruments best played in a group situation and I have no suitable group to be part of, I haven’t used either of them for a long time.

Times and lives change, of course, but music has always been an important part of my life, even when it comes to my other interests. One of my favourite things about video games, for example, is listening to their music and coming to understand all manner of different styles — and, if I’m lucky, tracking down some piano arrangements to be able to pay homage to my favourite tracks in my own way.

Once that nice piano stool arrives (which may be as soon as tomorrow), I wonder if I will be free of those dreams? I doubt it, I suspect, as dreams are rarely so literal; I suspect these particular scenarios come from a more general sense of anxiety than something specific. But at least I can say to myself that I’m making an effort to make the time for something that has always been — and always will be — important to me.

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#oneaday, Day 170: The Pile

Ever have one of those days where every little thing that is bothering you builds up into a mountainous heap and eventually ends up collapsing on your head? Today was one of those days. Every little and big thing that’s been stressing me out attacked me all at once and beat me down until I really felt like I couldn’t take any more. I had what could probably be scientifically-inaccurately-described as a mini-breakdown earlier. Pretty much a solid half an hour of really, really not being able to deal with anything. It’s not a nice feeling. Half an hour isn’t a huge amount out of a day. But it feels like a lifetime while it’s happening. Thoughts flit in and out of your head, images of things that are going to happen, things that have happened, things you fear. Then they’re gone before you can grasp them and deal with them, replaced by something else. The mental noise is awful, and relentless.

Eventually, it passes, of course, and you’re left with a feeling of “what the fuck was that for?” It doesn’t make experiencing it any easier. If anything, it leads to residual feelings of self-doubt, guilt and of course it does nothing for the self-esteem to know that you’re the person who lets himself get beaten down by all the things that are happening.

That’s stupid. Anyone undergoing a difficult situation that they’ve never been through before is sure to feel at least some of these things. So why feel guilty about it? Why feel doubt? Why think it makes you a worse person for letting go at the wrong minute and thinking “whoa… shit, I can’t actually handle this”? No-one has infinite strength, however much they might want it, however much they might try, however much they might try punching the Konami code into various parts of their body.

It has to get easier… right?

I certainly hope so. Because right now, I don’t feel like I’m making any progress. I’m no nearer getting a job than I was months ago. I’m alone. I’m in a place I can’t afford to live in. I don’t know where to move to because I don’t have a job. And it turns out I am not dealing all that well with residual feelings of bitterness, resentment and anger. I don’t like the person that these feelings make me into. He’s weak, angry and cries a lot. He comes and goes. But he’s always back again at some point, triggered by some stupid little thing. And it’s getting to be too much.

I want these feelings to stop. I want my life back.

No. I want a new life. One that involves the important people from this life, and discards those things which have dragged me down into the mud time and time again.

I’m trying to make it happen. I’m trying.

It’s got to start working soon. Right?

One A Day, Day 38: False Start

I got it the right way around.

Normally, teachers surviving until half-term will immediately collapse upon finishing a big block of time at school, then be struck down with some mystery unpleasant illness, rendering them incapable of enjoying their holiday due to any combination of snot, sneezing, coughing, puking, diarrhoeaing, headaching or good old-fashioned exhaustion. I managed to get through most of the holiday without feeling too bad, with only what I thought to be a “stress cough” showing itself in the last few days, before developing into full-blown unpleasantness on the Monday I returned to work. Found myself burning up, sore-throated, coughing, clumsy and generally a complete mess. So I’ve had the last couple of days off sick.

Being off sick is always a strange experience. When you’re off sick from a teaching post, the feeling of guilt is enormous, even if you know you genuinely are sick. Of course, there are people everywhere who take the piss with sick days, but that’s no reason that the rest of us should feel guilty at taking some time off to recover. Fortunately, the one good thing I can say about the school I currently work at is that they’re pleasantly understanding about illness and don’t even demand a day’s worth of cover work to be sent through, unlike a previous place I worked. Yes, that’s right – one previous school I worked at actually expected you, however sick you were, to send in some cover work for the day. That didn’t help with the guilt.

Still. I will be back in tomorrow, worse luck. Not looking forward to it. The first day back wasn’t fun, though that was probably mostly the “not feeling well” talking. Going back again after the class having had a couple of days of supply teachers isn’t going to be any more pleasant. And the knowledge that the inspectors are coming back soon, along with a whole host of “monitoring” activities, is not making me feel any more positive about the whole thing – but at least there’s not that long to go. In fact, there are only three and a half weeks to go. By now, I don’t give a shit about the outcome of the aforementioned “monitoring” or the inspection, but that doesn’t mean I can just switch off from the whole unpleasant experience. Unfortunately, there’s no way of me “opting out”, despite the fact that my negligible contribution to the school will soon be a distant memory.

Oh well. I guess all I can do is keep my fingers crossed that the inspectors decide to show up after I’ve left. It could happen. But, with my track record of “luck”, it probably won’t…