Unfortunately, this recession/depression comes just when I feel like pulling back--not putting as much effort into my work. I understand the game is to make oneself indispensable, and that can be done either by doing more work than anyone else for the employer's bucks; or by controlling information (keeping certain procedures secret or confusing so that one is the ONLY person who can do a number of necessary things). The trouble is, it's all so boring--other people's priorities. I, personally, have ideas for poems, performances, outings, long letters to old friends and relatives, do-gooder activities. I claim no great MEANING for these things, but they are important to me, and they spring naturally from me. But none of these can be implemented right now due to time constraints and exhaustion. Other people (my boss and her boss) confuse their own career-related projects with genuinely humanity-helping efforts, and pull me in to assist them. This is NOT what I want. I have done this for years, and I'm sick of it. I want to promote my own views for a change. These views are not going to save anything or anyone, but at least I'd have them "out there," wherever "there" is, and it's possible I might amuse a few souls. Having to (essentially) grovel to make a living is really getting to me. But I WON'T take it out on my few students, come Fall. The classroom is where, maybe, I can get my point of view across. Please don't make me ponder whether or not my "viewpoint" is useful to these students. I'm transferring it anyway...it's my last chance.

Cheering up the world while sitting in my chair

Yes, that’s what I’m doing. I’m interacting with people (or their virtual representatives) from China, Taiwan, Sweden, Portugal, England, Australia, France, and who knows where else. I’m taking care of their virtual animals. Oh, what a warm feeling it brings. I earn money by stroking these virtual pets in a Facebook application called “Fluff Friends,” in a kind of innocent virtual affection trade. Then I use that money (or “munny”) to buy various types of “food,” with which I gift the strangers’ pets now and again (admittedly, most of the “food” is consumed by my own virtual pet, a Land Giraffe named “Madame Y.”) I also buy “habitats” and “decorations” for Madame Y, as well as a series of “Minis,” or little friends to keep her company. These “Minis,” like most children, slaves, and real pets, cannot earn money, even for other people. They are not pettable. They are dispensable, and can even be given away as gifts.
Though I do have access to a vast number of virtual pets, and thus, a vast number of glimpses into the virtual decorating, eating, and commenting habits of their owners, I nevertheless am not “free to be me.” I must keep up with the virtual Joneses. Many pet owners change their habitats for the holidays: every holiday from Hannukah to Fourth of July. New decorations must be purchased; new gifts must be distributed so that one’s pet page won’t be sporting an empty Easter basket or Christmas stocking. One, in fact, gives in order to receive. That’s how it’s all set up.
For those who simply MUST shine, there are credit card options available for purchasing an “artsier than thou” environment, or fancier decorations and minis, with one’s REAL MONEY. Some folks buy multiples of things in order to create interesting background patterns on their page. Some use the application to create art, pictures that can be glanced at for a moment and appreciated, or possibly transmit something about another culture’s visual preferences. Some of these pages are missing the Fluff Friend entirely, the virtual pet originally chosen, and feature only myriads of Minis in starry skies, or feasts of flowers and hearts.
I don’t believe a Fluff Friend can “die,” although those who have not been “visited” by their owners for weeks may plead for others to send the owner a reminder. Peer pressure is encouraged here, I am not sure to what end. Now that I have my Madame Y, it seems a shame to abandon her, but others feel no such shame about abandoning their virtual Racoons, Pigs, Puppies, or Chicks. Many of these languish unvisited, unpetted, and unfed, providing neither munny nor joy for their owners, who apparently have “real” lives, or are playing more active/violent virtual games.
The idea of being able to “give” something, to make others “happy” with a few clicks of the mouse and a few minutes of time is irresistible, however, to some. It takes the messiness out of real-world charitable giving or volunteer work, and provides instant feedback. One is THANKED, one is petted, one is connected, one is able to identify with others on the safest possible level, from the privacy and comfort of one’s own home. I am reminded of the Buddhist meditative practice of breathing in the evils of the world, and breathing out love. What is really happening with this practice? Is world suffering eased? It can’t be verified. Neither can the “benefits” of Fluff Friends. I rest my case.

The Ultimate Reality

Having just finished final grading for my first English class, I must have been relieved, exhilarated, disappointed, understood that achievement is relative—all those things. Because a dream that followed that night was extraordinary, and left me with a feeling I’d been allowed a glimpse of the ultimate “reality.”

It took place in and around a museum that kept expanding, becoming more like a castle, and then like an entire city, but still all one building, with halls that were sometimes streets; rooms that were sometimes entire mansions, and all at varying levels. An exhibition was about to open, and I was helping. The small room I was working in held a model of the base of an obelisk. The model was of styrofoam, painted gold, which I discovered when I accidentally broke off part of it. Distressed, I left the room, and noticed that other rooms were being filled with antique furniture. Outside was a model of the entire obelisk, but it had fallen over due to the wind. It, too, was of styrofoam. I didn’t know whether I should be relieved that others had had problems with the exhibits too, or if I should tell the woman supervising the re-erection of the outdoor obelisk about my breaking the other exhibit. Before I could say much, a golden object fell from the sky. It was a tiny piece of armor, just the chest part of it. It was made for a monkey, I knew. But inside it were other objects, including an ancient gold coin, which the woman gave to me despite my murmuring that I did not deserve it.

Coin in hand, I ascended some stairs and revisited the room where the obelisk base had been, but someone had substituted another exhibit. My worry gone, I went to a balcony that overlooked a landscape, and sat down in a chair. I soon became overwhelmed by the view to the extent that I no longer had the faintest idea that I might be dreaming; this was reality. I would never wake from it, never leave it, never grow tired of it. I knew the privilege of seeing this perfect sight of hills, clouds, and sun was somehow due to the coin in my hand. The clouds moved continuously in a hypnotic swirling motion, creating bursts of sunlight and shade in my eyes. There was no sign of sentient life, let alone “civilization.” All the forces necessary to Understanding and Experience and Acceptance were contained in this view, and although there was a feeling of slightly fearful awe, I knew I would never lose sight of this; it was the ultimate reality.

When I did wake up, I was neither disappointed nor relieved. My own familiar “reality” was adequate and pleasant. But I now suspect it is not the ultimate one.

I feel that individual waking “consciousness” is divided into at least two parts. One consists of seemingly coherent thoughts that are in words or images, and these are necessarily contaminated by the “superego,” and/or influences on same. The other part is simply unknown, and may show itself (move into consciousness) as impulses or emotional responses. I am lately very aware of how the necessity to fill out a certain bureaucratic form, for instance, having to do with my full-time job (at which I strive to be conscientious, at least worth the money they are paying me) interferes completely and painfully with the “unknown” part of my consciousness. There is so little silence. And silence is necessary. It should be a given, not a treasure that one has to steal. And by silence, I mean a reprieve from certain roles whose fulfillment requires constant conscious self-admonition. That’s what “Fall Break” should be about. But it’s not. Not for secretaries. I guess what I’m saying is quite simple. It’s the reason people shout, “T-G-I-F-!” and the like. But there have been times when I’ve been able to hitch the two kinds of consciousness together, and not need a break at all. Some of these times have to do with teaching, being a “person” in front of a class. Trying to convince them it’s worth it to put some time into writing well. Because I know everyone CAN do it. It’s our human heritage. At these times, my two types of consciousness come together. At other times, however, when I’m NOT teaching and am in my other role, I feel, not for the first time, like Cinderella, only with no ball or prince in sight. Oh, I know it’s not “all about me,” but one can only be servile for so long before it becomes a fetish that might be worth joining a recovery group to eliminate. Yes, I feel like a teacher with a secretarial fetish.