January 27 & 28
Spent the majority of the day in bed, supine, unable to stand for any length of time without my back getting the best of me. It comes around, time to time, & usually the disc slips out & the pain is relatively intense for only a matter of minutes before being a caution for the rest of the day, a kind of ghosting discomfort. This morning when it went out it stayed out, to the point that I almost felt compelled to seek medical attention while I was, of all places, at the dump, my spine locked up, leaning against a concrete abutment scattered with the shit of gulls flapping about the rafters. Spasms for roughly four hours straight. That highly localized pinch of the vertebrae, & my body’s unwillingness in lieu of it to allow me to take a full breath. So. Not much in the way of productivity. It was noted, of course, that I ought to make up the hours I missed. Of course I will. Top of my action list. To their credit, I was given three muscle relaxants that she keeps around—her own spine fused after countless surgeries—which likely have contributed to my subtle but sure improvement over the course of the day.
& tomorrow they are off to Seattle for a board meeting at UW. Terrifying & illuminating that such people are the ones to arbitrate & facilitate education at a highly reputable liberal arts school. How money can act as substitute for intellect, or compassion, or sense. How an ongoing annual contribution can in turn foster this delusion of righteousness. Like spitting on a beggar outside the shelter to which you recently wrote a check. A kind of offset credit purchased to patch a gap in conscience, or, better, consciousness itself. But then, to see the spiders in their weaving is just as well. I harbored for some time my own delusions, one among them that institutions of higher learning were able to operate under the auspices of their founding ideals. Business as usual, though, the de facto creed of universities too. But now I seem bent on general condemnations, & what good is that, I wonder.
***
Interesting transaction today with Dick, spurred by asking after being compensated for house-sitting, spurring him, in turn, to swear & piss & moan about it. Apparently, in spite of having a clear conversation resulting in the opposite expectation, he never had any intention of paying us for house-sits, thinking of them as another part of the job. Incensed that I would be so “confrontational” (a word not often reserved for me, I might add), he told me to tell him exactly how much I thought I was entitled to, god damn it, though he was loathe to give me anything. He said he too had an expectation & it was that I would work here for two years & now I’ve gone & fucked that all to hell (a quote). & then he started to leave the room, a pusillanimous bark with no good bite, & I halted him & told him to sit down & discuss the situation reasonably. & he did, though reason played a fairly negligible role in the conversation. All of our house-sits, combined & figured, will merit us a bonus of $90, though he prefers that we still pay our utilities for those periods of time, reducing our net profit to something like $46, if my math is right. I am amazed at how well they play their parts. I had him irate, in a huff, literally throwing expletives at me, simply because I asked when I would be compensated for work I had already done. At this late point, what to do but toss the hands up? I have no contract, nothing written. One more week, if I choose to stay it through. I can assure anyone that upon my exit, he will refer to me on every possible occasion of my mentioning as a crook; I’ve heard this about most everyone else he’s run out of here with his great sweeping broom of idiocy & smug condescension. & how many have left without notice. & how I’ve heard not a single word from anyone in his favor. & how one is made to feel guilt at asking after what is rightfully their own. & how now the hours count down to a final exit, a drive up & out of a lane that I will never look down again.
& tomorrow they are off to Seattle for a board meeting at UW. Terrifying & illuminating that such people are the ones to arbitrate & facilitate education at a highly reputable liberal arts school. How money can act as substitute for intellect, or compassion, or sense. How an ongoing annual contribution can in turn foster this delusion of righteousness. Like spitting on a beggar outside the shelter to which you recently wrote a check. A kind of offset credit purchased to patch a gap in conscience, or, better, consciousness itself. But then, to see the spiders in their weaving is just as well. I harbored for some time my own delusions, one among them that institutions of higher learning were able to operate under the auspices of their founding ideals. Business as usual, though, the de facto creed of universities too. But now I seem bent on general condemnations, & what good is that, I wonder.
***
Interesting transaction today with Dick, spurred by asking after being compensated for house-sitting, spurring him, in turn, to swear & piss & moan about it. Apparently, in spite of having a clear conversation resulting in the opposite expectation, he never had any intention of paying us for house-sits, thinking of them as another part of the job. Incensed that I would be so “confrontational” (a word not often reserved for me, I might add), he told me to tell him exactly how much I thought I was entitled to, god damn it, though he was loathe to give me anything. He said he too had an expectation & it was that I would work here for two years & now I’ve gone & fucked that all to hell (a quote). & then he started to leave the room, a pusillanimous bark with no good bite, & I halted him & told him to sit down & discuss the situation reasonably. & he did, though reason played a fairly negligible role in the conversation. All of our house-sits, combined & figured, will merit us a bonus of $90, though he prefers that we still pay our utilities for those periods of time, reducing our net profit to something like $46, if my math is right. I am amazed at how well they play their parts. I had him irate, in a huff, literally throwing expletives at me, simply because I asked when I would be compensated for work I had already done. At this late point, what to do but toss the hands up? I have no contract, nothing written. One more week, if I choose to stay it through. I can assure anyone that upon my exit, he will refer to me on every possible occasion of my mentioning as a crook; I’ve heard this about most everyone else he’s run out of here with his great sweeping broom of idiocy & smug condescension. & how many have left without notice. & how I’ve heard not a single word from anyone in his favor. & how one is made to feel guilt at asking after what is rightfully their own. & how now the hours count down to a final exit, a drive up & out of a lane that I will never look down again.
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