Thursday, August 08, 2002

A raving screaming fight with my wife this morning about the same old shit. Money mostly, but also about how she feels that I am doing nothing at all for her (like going out and getting a real job, etc. etc.) She has a point. I screamed and broke shit, she screamed and cried. It always is this way under pressure. We have a huge fight and everyone feels like shit. Like stabbing yourself in the leg, only more painful.

I think it comes down to a lack of trust. We don't know each other well enough yet to unconditionally trust one another and so under strain we fall apart. On each other, and very messily. I say the meanest shit when I am angry and regret it mightily afterward. My opinion of myself could hardly be lower these days.

Wednesday, August 07, 2002

So here I am blogging in the class I'm teaching. I've developed an unfortunate penchant for 1st person shooter games, gleefully gunning down pretend villians and liberally cheating whenever I get the chance. Turning 37 has been really hard for me. Why, I'm not sure. 37 is, I think, one of the unsung woe years. Lots of people I kow have had more trouble with turning 37 than 40.
We went last week to see the Nina which has docked at the riverfront. Even though it was a replice, it stank of ancient evil. A black ship indeed, it was Columbus' favorite. He was a bloodthirsty bastard, rupedly impaling bibles on pikes and carrying them through villages to demonstrate Spanish ruthlessness lest the Indios get a clue and kill the vastly outnumbered sailors. A very European technique (we must remember that in 1492, it was quite common for villaged to buy a pardoned prisoner's contract so the public torture could take place anyway; no one like to be deprived of their amusement).
Dreary thoughts on this bright day. At least I am not feeling quite so despairing. Maybe even a glimmer of hope?

Monday, August 05, 2002

I turn 37 today. More later. Or so I think now, anyway.