I went to an RC gathering today for the first time in ten months- good to discharge and make connections. I'm staying at the unfriendly hostel until we move to barrio Once on Monday. I have this weird physical feeling of exhaustion- it might be the skin infection flaring again, but fortunately I can take showers as much as I want this time. I very well may start full time editing textbook solutions next week, in addition to having an apartment- I hope I can just zone into it in the air-conditioned office and make pesos. I think my bg is low actually- I wonder if it was the same thing last night. I am working on doing research instead of just passing time.
chicken
Just had thanksgiving for reals you guys. Don't worry about me too hard there, Max and I are also appearently moving into a room with a loft on Monday. Worked three camps in a row and there's only one more this season, mid december. Might have a job but need a computer for it: I am thinking ecc with a full keyboard to plug in.
I feel connected, I like the people I work with at colonias and the people I know in the world in general. I may eat and drink too much, and discharge quite infrequently, but it seems I will just be ok. I don't miss home, I'm glad not to be there, based on Mom's description. Having bought into life here for a while longer, I am feeling ready to set things up rather than just slip day to day. We'll see what happens.
I feel connected, I like the people I work with at colonias and the people I know in the world in general. I may eat and drink too much, and discharge quite infrequently, but it seems I will just be ok. I don't miss home, I'm glad not to be there, based on Mom's description. Having bought into life here for a while longer, I am feeling ready to set things up rather than just slip day to day. We'll see what happens.
camping
Just got back from my second camp in a row, leaving for the third in 10 hours! We really did a shit job on this last one I think, but on the bus home I heard a girl saying it was the best camp ever. Who can say. I do really like the people I work with.
Max probably found us a place, so, maybe my homeless time is ending. I hope so. Also, I didn't get the job editing math textbooks, but hell, I wasn't clear I wanted it. I am not clear what I want in specific. When people ask, I produce these generalities: I want to use my body; I want to have strong, lifelong relationships with people I love; well, there are more that I will add later.
problems
So one hour before we're scheduled to leave town this evening for a camp starting tomorrow, I recieve word that we're not going until 6:00 tomorrow morning. What am I supposed to do with that? I guess I could go back to the unfriendly hostel and pay my twelve dollars for six hours in bed, maybe that would be the reasonable thing to do; I'm certainly not saving any money being homeless this week, I've been laying out left and right for marathon internet stints and compulsive foodstuffs. I went to the hostel but found that Max isn't there tonight so I walked away: I just hate the way the proprietress looks at me.
The truth, I think, is that I still desperately want someone to rescue me. Someone to tell me it's alright, to take my life in hand for a minute and remove this overwhelming responsiblility of self-determination. My dad offered to help me buy a ticket home, though I do have enough credit to buy it myself. But I have no idea what I'd do there, except sink into lethargic rescuedness. I remember getting into town from a camp three weeks ago and calling my couchsurfing host for that week; he unexpectedly offered to meet me at the bus station, and I didn't tell him that I knew my way around and would be perfectly capable of finding his place on my own. As I waited for him to come rescue me, I felt a dimming of my peripheral vision, a surrender to helplessness which lasted for the entire four days of my visit. I wanted Max to rescue me tonight, even though I don't know what he could really do: let me stay for free surrupticiously?
I need somewhere to go back to each night where I don't feel bad, plaza del congresso doesn't fit the bill, neither does the internet cafe in Once, neither does the hostel, neither does this internet place. I hope I get the textbook solution editorial job I interviewed for today, because then I could afford a room. Maybe I really do have to live alone to get over this helpless shit. As I told the pretty, drunk girls at the hostel last night: I would be happy to paint your nails and bake you bread all day. As I didn't continue: as long as you can tell me where to live and what to do with my life right now.
The truth, I think, is that I still desperately want someone to rescue me. Someone to tell me it's alright, to take my life in hand for a minute and remove this overwhelming responsiblility of self-determination. My dad offered to help me buy a ticket home, though I do have enough credit to buy it myself. But I have no idea what I'd do there, except sink into lethargic rescuedness. I remember getting into town from a camp three weeks ago and calling my couchsurfing host for that week; he unexpectedly offered to meet me at the bus station, and I didn't tell him that I knew my way around and would be perfectly capable of finding his place on my own. As I waited for him to come rescue me, I felt a dimming of my peripheral vision, a surrender to helplessness which lasted for the entire four days of my visit. I wanted Max to rescue me tonight, even though I don't know what he could really do: let me stay for free surrupticiously?
I need somewhere to go back to each night where I don't feel bad, plaza del congresso doesn't fit the bill, neither does the internet cafe in Once, neither does the hostel, neither does this internet place. I hope I get the textbook solution editorial job I interviewed for today, because then I could afford a room. Maybe I really do have to live alone to get over this helpless shit. As I told the pretty, drunk girls at the hostel last night: I would be happy to paint your nails and bake you bread all day. As I didn't continue: as long as you can tell me where to live and what to do with my life right now.
I don't know if things are going well
Once again, it's all in my head. I had a pretty good job interview, but I felt real nervous afterwards. They kind of need/say they want me to have a laptop and I don't. Anyways, I have continued my week of rash spending on chocolate and cream and this dollar-an-hour internet place. I've resoponded to a bunch of rooms posted so Max and I can get a place, but I haven't heard anything yet, obviously people prefer singles to doubles when it comes to roomates.
This afternoon, I feel like I want to go home again. Up till last night, I was on a high, sure that everything here was working out. My head is a tough read these days. I'm going to camp again tonight... if stability is what I'm needing, it has not yet arrived.
After being mildly discusted by the tenedor libre in Once, I cooked for myself yesterday and was pleased witht the result for the first time in a while. Browned onions and acelga, added late a bit of garlic, alot of ginger, a little salt and, get this: two peeled, chopped nectarines right at the end, dominating the dish with delicious, sweet tanginess. Served over brown rice, had to serve twice.
Mood swiNG
I stuffed my face at the veggie buffet last night and then came and sat down here, been at this computer for just about 16 hours now. Spent most of the night simultaneously playing minesweeper and watching professional starcraft match replays to keep myself awake (no sleeping allowed in the internet cafe).
Woke up from my numbing haze a few hours ago because I saw I have a job interview tomorrow to work on editing an English math textbook being adapted by an outsourcing company down here. Now I need to buy shoes and get lots of sleep, so I'm headed back to the unfriendly hostel to sack out as soon as possible (suddenly there are so many things to do).
My mood is really tied up in food and work (and blood sugar level, right now 152). SURVIVAL: the truth is that we evolved for it, occasional rationality is a fringe benefit.
Woke up from my numbing haze a few hours ago because I saw I have a job interview tomorrow to work on editing an English math textbook being adapted by an outsourcing company down here. Now I need to buy shoes and get lots of sleep, so I'm headed back to the unfriendly hostel to sack out as soon as possible (suddenly there are so many things to do).
My mood is really tied up in food and work (and blood sugar level, right now 152). SURVIVAL: the truth is that we evolved for it, occasional rationality is a fringe benefit.
Good another morning
I woke up on the sidewalk this morning, a few blocks from the internet
cafe. The cool, damp breeze blowing over my cheek, sucking away my
warmth, aroused a strange mixture of hunger and anger in me. Since
writing yesterday, I'd only eaten two more chocolate bars and half a
pack of crackers; maybe today is the day for pan-asian buffet. It's
possible that, three nights out, the discomfort of this situating is
starting to get to me. I thought about how nice it would be to have
my sleeping bag, but then I though about how that woud double the
weight and volume I'm carrying. My legs were cold, my jacket took
care of the rest. Blood sugar 271.
cafe. The cool, damp breeze blowing over my cheek, sucking away my
warmth, aroused a strange mixture of hunger and anger in me. Since
writing yesterday, I'd only eaten two more chocolate bars and half a
pack of crackers; maybe today is the day for pan-asian buffet. It's
possible that, three nights out, the discomfort of this situating is
starting to get to me. I thought about how nice it would be to have
my sleeping bag, but then I though about how that woud double the
weight and volume I'm carrying. My legs were cold, my jacket took
care of the rest. Blood sugar 271.
I spent 14 hours straight at the 24hr internet cafe yesterday, I was
just dicking around some of the time, but I got motivated to rewrite
my resume to apply for math textbook editing, so I did that. I had
actually arranged to hang out with Max at his unfriendly hostel and
then shower and sleep at my friend's happy community house nearby, but
as the evening progressed I just didn't feel like dealing with the
social implications of either encounter. I also didn't feel like
interrupting my resume project, so I ended up cancelling both. One of
the things about bathing is that then I have to put back on the same
dirty clothes, which makes it feel pointless. I carry laundry soap
with me and can wash stuff pretty quick in the sink, but then I need a
place to dry it.
I concluded long ago the comfort, convenience, and efficiency are not
valid ends in themselves, though they can be empowering in reaching
other goals. Thus I may be deciding to stay here even though the
summer promises to be oppressively hot and humid. Thus I decided to
sleep out last night.
Good morning
I slept outside amongst some pallets of bricks last night after signing off at 2245hrs. I woke up at 0550hrs because it was full sunlight and trains were going past and I was worried the supply yard would open; I see why daylight savings time is done, even if it's a logistical pain. I found a bench on the sidewalk and lay there for an hour. I walked about fifteen blocks, bought and ate a package of alfahors, but not because I was hungry, got on the subway but got off after three stops because it was hot and I wasn't going anywhere in particular. I wanted to use my credit card to buy food so I walked until I found a grocery store and bought five chocolate bars and a liter of milk. I ate one and drank the milk on a small retaining wall on the sidewalk in the shade around the corner.
I thought about a plan for returning to Boston. My dad found a cheap ticket I could by to New York. I could finish my bachelors in ath at UMass Boston; I could work(?) and live in Dorchester again.
I thought about a plan for staying here. Max and I found a cheap apartment available 1 December. I have a wad of sweaty, under-the-table cash with which I was partially compensated for my work in October yesterday so I could put down the deposit anytime. I could keep working, maybe get a job as a real English teacher, stay in better contact with folks I now know in this city.
I felt itchy. I though about a plan for today and this week. I coud go check into the unfriendly hostel and shower and wash my clothing. The secret weekly price is competitive (the nightly price is exorbitant). I could make it a point to go out alot anyways.
The climate for the next three months here is going to be uncomfortably hot and wet. The climate for the next three months in Boston is going to be uncomfortably cold and wet. I thought about a plan for going back to El Bolson for the summer. I could do physical labor and eat vegetables and be outside and spend very little.
I realized I was happy for the moment to lie on the cool, macroscopically clean sidewalk at 1000hrs as the day started. The camping store on the frontage I occupied was opened by a clean, rugged-looking young man.
I thought about money. How much I'd spent unnecessarilly in the day and a half since I got back into town, simply for not having anything to do. Maybe if I dan't finished my novel, I would have spent, and eaten, less.
I thought about the things I'd had stolen. How I needed a new insulated, refigerable container for my insulin, a new headlight, a new wearable container for my cards and cash, and a new shoulder bag to put this stuff in.
I walked to the same old internet cafe because I had some vague reason to go there and no reason to go anywhere else.
I thought about a plan for returning to Boston. My dad found a cheap ticket I could by to New York. I could finish my bachelors in ath at UMass Boston; I could work(?) and live in Dorchester again.
I thought about a plan for staying here. Max and I found a cheap apartment available 1 December. I have a wad of sweaty, under-the-table cash with which I was partially compensated for my work in October yesterday so I could put down the deposit anytime. I could keep working, maybe get a job as a real English teacher, stay in better contact with folks I now know in this city.
I felt itchy. I though about a plan for today and this week. I coud go check into the unfriendly hostel and shower and wash my clothing. The secret weekly price is competitive (the nightly price is exorbitant). I could make it a point to go out alot anyways.
The climate for the next three months here is going to be uncomfortably hot and wet. The climate for the next three months in Boston is going to be uncomfortably cold and wet. I thought about a plan for going back to El Bolson for the summer. I could do physical labor and eat vegetables and be outside and spend very little.
I realized I was happy for the moment to lie on the cool, macroscopically clean sidewalk at 1000hrs as the day started. The camping store on the frontage I occupied was opened by a clean, rugged-looking young man.
I thought about money. How much I'd spent unnecessarilly in the day and a half since I got back into town, simply for not having anything to do. Maybe if I dan't finished my novel, I would have spent, and eaten, less.
I thought about the things I'd had stolen. How I needed a new insulated, refigerable container for my insulin, a new headlight, a new wearable container for my cards and cash, and a new shoulder bag to put this stuff in.
I walked to the same old internet cafe because I had some vague reason to go there and no reason to go anywhere else.
My work
As I mentioned I've been working at immersion camps for Argentine students of English. These are two-night programs designed for classes of students already fluent in the language to give them a chance to practice outside of an academic setting. It's a pretty good idea, I know the only way I learned to speak Spanish was by coming down here (and Not working in the English industry, which is terrible for my Spanish.) Each camp has a theme around which the activities are supposed to be centered.
Unfortunately, the organization is so poor that the quality of the camps is pretty low. I know that part of the problem is staff morale, they change up the work schedule all the time and we often don't have all the information in sufficient time to relax into work. Even though we usually arrive the day before to prepare, we often don't really use the time, the last-minute invention, lack of planning and coordination trickles down to the camps themselves.
I feel terrible about participating because I feel like most of what we do is confuse and make fun of the children who attend these camps. It starts at the beginning when we go through their luggage to confiscate Spanish-language materials, usually planting a bra in one of the boy's bags just to humiliate him. Then we put them in groups and force them to produce visual or performance artworks, then we put them in a new set of groups, then yet another set. The we leave them directionless for an hour or so, then we yell at them that we are behind schedule and to come enthusiastically and immediately together. Then we eat a meal for an hour and a half. Then we have a campfire, where we do the same tired activities compiled years ago and known to the teachers who bring their classes back each year.
I don't think there's anything wrong with the idea of a two-day immersion camp, but the execution is stressful and deprecatory for all involved. It is all I can do to keep from just walking off the job; I get paid about US$100 per camp, which is good for a job in the Engish industry.
Unfortunately, the organization is so poor that the quality of the camps is pretty low. I know that part of the problem is staff morale, they change up the work schedule all the time and we often don't have all the information in sufficient time to relax into work. Even though we usually arrive the day before to prepare, we often don't really use the time, the last-minute invention, lack of planning and coordination trickles down to the camps themselves.
I feel terrible about participating because I feel like most of what we do is confuse and make fun of the children who attend these camps. It starts at the beginning when we go through their luggage to confiscate Spanish-language materials, usually planting a bra in one of the boy's bags just to humiliate him. Then we put them in groups and force them to produce visual or performance artworks, then we put them in a new set of groups, then yet another set. The we leave them directionless for an hour or so, then we yell at them that we are behind schedule and to come enthusiastically and immediately together. Then we eat a meal for an hour and a half. Then we have a campfire, where we do the same tired activities compiled years ago and known to the teachers who bring their classes back each year.
I don't think there's anything wrong with the idea of a two-day immersion camp, but the execution is stressful and deprecatory for all involved. It is all I can do to keep from just walking off the job; I get paid about US$100 per camp, which is good for a job in the Engish industry.
My diet
My diet has suffered since getting to the city, and especially since beginning work at the immersion camps regularly. Part of the problem is not having a kitchen shelf on which to accumulate good food choices for later. Another part is the patterned conditioning of being paid in food for five months while we worked on farms through WWOOF. At camp, there are three meals and three desserts a day, plus a suitcase of candy for selling to the children, all free to me. And I feel like I should eat it all because I can, like I'm getting away with something, even though it makes me feel like shit. There is the ever-looming spectre of camp ending in one or two days, and the false notion that after that, who knows? This is silly, because I actually have plenty of money to buy food.
I have also been eating at camp for the anesthetic effect of sat fat and sugar. This is obviously bad; it's a habit that I picked up the first summer I worked in education in Newton, where I would duck into the camp office for a handful of chocolate chips every day, sometimes several times. I did it sometimes as a youth advisor too. I am terrified of leadership I guess, and numbing myself out can keep me from showing that terror to the group. One thing I have learned about leading is that if people know you are scared and unsure, they don't want to do what you suggest; but obviously this isn't a good way to fix that.
Recently, eating, or not eating, because I'm scared has spilled over into the rest of my life. Somehow right before this sharing today I was eating a fast food combo meal, complete with caffinated soda, all of which numbed me out alot, but seems to have awakened me as well (to the depths of my depravity, I don't know). I am sure that I had already consumed sufficient calories for the day prior to this meal. Last night for dinner I had two packs of alfajors and a chocolate bar, and that just made me feel terrible and alone, so, go figure.
Sometimes when I'm walking around the city feeling like I would rather not exist, buying food, even if I'm not hungry, makes me feel empowered. The problem is that buying food implies eating it immediately or carrying it around indefinitely, neither of which is usually that great. Sometimes I fast for up to 24 hours at a time, which makes me feel righteous and tired, but I don't think this is too healthy either. Note for concerned parents: I'm not going to start 12-step work because of comments on this post.
I have also been eating at camp for the anesthetic effect of sat fat and sugar. This is obviously bad; it's a habit that I picked up the first summer I worked in education in Newton, where I would duck into the camp office for a handful of chocolate chips every day, sometimes several times. I did it sometimes as a youth advisor too. I am terrified of leadership I guess, and numbing myself out can keep me from showing that terror to the group. One thing I have learned about leading is that if people know you are scared and unsure, they don't want to do what you suggest; but obviously this isn't a good way to fix that.
Recently, eating, or not eating, because I'm scared has spilled over into the rest of my life. Somehow right before this sharing today I was eating a fast food combo meal, complete with caffinated soda, all of which numbed me out alot, but seems to have awakened me as well (to the depths of my depravity, I don't know). I am sure that I had already consumed sufficient calories for the day prior to this meal. Last night for dinner I had two packs of alfajors and a chocolate bar, and that just made me feel terrible and alone, so, go figure.
Sometimes when I'm walking around the city feeling like I would rather not exist, buying food, even if I'm not hungry, makes me feel empowered. The problem is that buying food implies eating it immediately or carrying it around indefinitely, neither of which is usually that great. Sometimes I fast for up to 24 hours at a time, which makes me feel righteous and tired, but I don't think this is too healthy either. Note for concerned parents: I'm not going to start 12-step work because of comments on this post.
My passport
I did lose my passport the other day, and it was kind of related to homelessness, but only mentally, I would have fought for that shit if given half a chance, but here's the story. I was spending a lot of time in a certain 24 hour internet cafe, possibly thinking of it along the lines of a place that could be mine, as I am desperate for one. Anyway, I got into a less-than-careful habit of going to pee without taking my bag with me. I didn't even notice when I came back and my passport wasn't there until I was packing up to leave. This story is stupid AND boring. I got a police report saying it was stolen, which is one of the bureaucratic items I need for a replacement. I lost at the same time: my headlamp, debit card (now cancelled), insulin, primary blood test kit, 100 pesos, and a nice collection of coins (which are very hard to get sometimes down here).
My lifestyle
Right now I am homeless. This has been partially mitigated by my work sometimes in short, residential camp programs. It has also been covered by couchsurfing and staying in hostels. But these things are too temporary to count as 'home.'
I've been thinking alot about what home really means, because just having a place to shower and sleep doesn't really fit the bill. I think a home for me is where there is someone to share my life with on equal, reciprocal terms. This is why my parent's house doesn't really work as a home for me anymore: my parents are partnered with eachother and my mom doesn't really have attention to share my life with me the way she used to. This is why, even though we moved around all the time and even got thrown out of a couple places, I didn't feel homeless when Max and I were traveling together earlier this year.
Physically, I have as of yet spent very few nights (however, including last night) sleeping outside like a normal homeless person. At this, I have some friends who would of course rather I stay with them for a night than sleep in plaza del congresso, but seriously, I don't know why but I don't want to be a guest or a visitor right now, I guess I'm just tired of it. You could say it's dangerous, but nobody ever fucks with me because I'm 194cm white guy wearing aviators.
I've been thinking alot about what home really means, because just having a place to shower and sleep doesn't really fit the bill. I think a home for me is where there is someone to share my life with on equal, reciprocal terms. This is why my parent's house doesn't really work as a home for me anymore: my parents are partnered with eachother and my mom doesn't really have attention to share my life with me the way she used to. This is why, even though we moved around all the time and even got thrown out of a couple places, I didn't feel homeless when Max and I were traveling together earlier this year.
Physically, I have as of yet spent very few nights (however, including last night) sleeping outside like a normal homeless person. At this, I have some friends who would of course rather I stay with them for a night than sleep in plaza del congresso, but seriously, I don't know why but I don't want to be a guest or a visitor right now, I guess I'm just tired of it. You could say it's dangerous, but nobody ever fucks with me because I'm 194cm white guy wearing aviators.
I'm just going to tell you what's going on
I'm going to try something new here. Last year at this time, I had undiagnosed type 1 diabetes and, if you want to call it as such, clinical depression. But I didn't say anything about what my life was like. This year I feel almost as bad, but I'm going to try sharing instead of keeping silent. My parent's old shrink Dr. Paul says anniversaries are big, subconcious drivers of emotion. I wonder what this is the anniversary of, besides last year.