Stress and Strain
When I joined the school editorial team, I had this idea that I'd be sitting behind a computer churning out articles and doing research for said articles. That's what msot people associate with the idea of working for a periodical, isn't it? It turns out I was optimistic.
The editorial is recruiting more members, and I got somehow drafted to help do that. As a result, I got entrusted with a thick sheaf of forms to pass out (I passed out as well, but that's of little consequence here), and a deadline by which to collect them back and prepare the editor to interview more potential slaves. That deadline is tomorrow, and I only just finished handing out those forms today. To the wrong person, it seems, because now Tee Four, who is also on the recruitment sub-committee, is hounding me to get those forms into the right hands.
I told her I'd had enough stress for the day, but she didn't listen properly. My adrenaline glands are still pumping concentrated Essence of Fear into me from the ordeal I went through during break. I went into two separate lecture halls and spoke to complete strangers about the editorial team and my mission.
In case you haven't gotten the idea yet, I'm an introvert. One of my greatest fears is being in the limelight with more than five people watching me. And here I was, standing in front of about ninety people asking for their class representatives to come out and please talk to me. I stammered and stuttered, I'll admit; my speech is unpolished at the best of times. (Don't be fooled by the writing. My fluency with written words is, I think, a kind of balance for my verbal incoherency.) I only hope the forms do get to the required audience; the editor may not be pleased with me for not getting even one morsel of fresh blood into the team.
It was frightening, talking to them. I thought of nothing but that all through lunch, and still managed to botch it up royally. Gene accompanied me there for a bit of moral support, but it was unfortunately ineffective. He's not very good with his words either.
But, thank God, that's over and done with, and I can now turn to the relatively simple task of sitting around waiting for the respective and respected class representatives to hand their forms to me and for the sub-commitee to arrange interviews with each of them. At least that way I can arrange to be on familiar turf. Please God, I shall never do something like this again.
I just finished Our Mutual Friend, and one of the things that struck me most about it is something that strikes me in almost all of Dickens' novels. His novels always have at least one set of extremely close friends, and that never fails to turn me green. I've quite possibly never had any friends I can consider really close, excepting Chronicles for one and a half years. It's, I suppose, an unfortunate part of my nature to keep secrets from everybody. Including, of course, this blog. (Not that I consider this blog to be alive; but its readers are.)
But the strange thing is that Dickensian friends are, though male, always very affectionate? close? tender? the exact term escapes me. Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that you don't really know somebody until you live with them, because Dickensian friends invariably live together somewhere; as, I suppose, a result, they seem to have adapted to each other like Plasticene. Something, I think, like old married couples are.
It's unfortunate, says C. S. Lewis, that the only love that is celebrated these days is Eros; the ancients saw Phileo, or friendship, as the greatest love. Even Jesus said that the greatest love is that of a man who lays down his life for a friend. I don't know if there are corresponding quotes in Islam, or Buddhism, or any other religions. Perhaps this downplaying of friendship's value--how else for anybody to associate with anybody else?-- has led to the gay or lesbian movements?
After all, it seems that the gay or lesbian community puts great store on their being free to be as intimate with each other as husband and wife. But even a cursory reading of literature-- Pickwick and Weller, Wrayburn and Lightwood, Baggins and Gamgee-- shows that intimacy does not equal sex, or the other way around. It is unfortunate that the Zeitgeist seems to think otherwise, decreeing that sex is the only intimacy possible, and therefore that for one to be intimate in any degree with another, sexual attraction must be present.
I'm sure this may sound very strange, but I think that the scientists have once again agreed with religious authority; affection within the sexes is found within the genes. Somebody who had absolutely no affection for his/her fellow wo/men is unlikely to have passed any genes down, and certainly any wo/man may be friendly with another wo/man to the point of intimacy. That's what friendship is msotly about, isn't it?-- To choose certain fellow-creatures as the special recipient of trust or goodwill, and from those to choose yet another few to receive special attention or care--the best friends. The religious authorities would also be right in pointing out homosexuality as a sin; intimate as friends may be, sex always is and always should be out of the question--unless those friends happen to be man and wife.
This is a very strange topic, to be sure; but I began considering this topic when I was told that somebody considers somebody else gay, because the somebody else happens to be particularly affectionate towards his friends. I name no names, but I'll probably continue this train of thought somewhere else, when I've got my thoughts properly in order.
Until then, I'll just be trying to achieve a state of calm and recover from the fright I gave myself.
The editorial is recruiting more members, and I got somehow drafted to help do that. As a result, I got entrusted with a thick sheaf of forms to pass out (I passed out as well, but that's of little consequence here), and a deadline by which to collect them back and prepare the editor to interview more potential slaves. That deadline is tomorrow, and I only just finished handing out those forms today. To the wrong person, it seems, because now Tee Four, who is also on the recruitment sub-committee, is hounding me to get those forms into the right hands.
I told her I'd had enough stress for the day, but she didn't listen properly. My adrenaline glands are still pumping concentrated Essence of Fear into me from the ordeal I went through during break. I went into two separate lecture halls and spoke to complete strangers about the editorial team and my mission.
In case you haven't gotten the idea yet, I'm an introvert. One of my greatest fears is being in the limelight with more than five people watching me. And here I was, standing in front of about ninety people asking for their class representatives to come out and please talk to me. I stammered and stuttered, I'll admit; my speech is unpolished at the best of times. (Don't be fooled by the writing. My fluency with written words is, I think, a kind of balance for my verbal incoherency.) I only hope the forms do get to the required audience; the editor may not be pleased with me for not getting even one morsel of fresh blood into the team.
It was frightening, talking to them. I thought of nothing but that all through lunch, and still managed to botch it up royally. Gene accompanied me there for a bit of moral support, but it was unfortunately ineffective. He's not very good with his words either.
But, thank God, that's over and done with, and I can now turn to the relatively simple task of sitting around waiting for the respective and respected class representatives to hand their forms to me and for the sub-commitee to arrange interviews with each of them. At least that way I can arrange to be on familiar turf. Please God, I shall never do something like this again.
I just finished Our Mutual Friend, and one of the things that struck me most about it is something that strikes me in almost all of Dickens' novels. His novels always have at least one set of extremely close friends, and that never fails to turn me green. I've quite possibly never had any friends I can consider really close, excepting Chronicles for one and a half years. It's, I suppose, an unfortunate part of my nature to keep secrets from everybody. Including, of course, this blog. (Not that I consider this blog to be alive; but its readers are.)
But the strange thing is that Dickensian friends are, though male, always very affectionate? close? tender? the exact term escapes me. Perhaps it's something to do with the fact that you don't really know somebody until you live with them, because Dickensian friends invariably live together somewhere; as, I suppose, a result, they seem to have adapted to each other like Plasticene. Something, I think, like old married couples are.
It's unfortunate, says C. S. Lewis, that the only love that is celebrated these days is Eros; the ancients saw Phileo, or friendship, as the greatest love. Even Jesus said that the greatest love is that of a man who lays down his life for a friend. I don't know if there are corresponding quotes in Islam, or Buddhism, or any other religions. Perhaps this downplaying of friendship's value--how else for anybody to associate with anybody else?-- has led to the gay or lesbian movements?
After all, it seems that the gay or lesbian community puts great store on their being free to be as intimate with each other as husband and wife. But even a cursory reading of literature-- Pickwick and Weller, Wrayburn and Lightwood, Baggins and Gamgee-- shows that intimacy does not equal sex, or the other way around. It is unfortunate that the Zeitgeist seems to think otherwise, decreeing that sex is the only intimacy possible, and therefore that for one to be intimate in any degree with another, sexual attraction must be present.
I'm sure this may sound very strange, but I think that the scientists have once again agreed with religious authority; affection within the sexes is found within the genes. Somebody who had absolutely no affection for his/her fellow wo/men is unlikely to have passed any genes down, and certainly any wo/man may be friendly with another wo/man to the point of intimacy. That's what friendship is msotly about, isn't it?-- To choose certain fellow-creatures as the special recipient of trust or goodwill, and from those to choose yet another few to receive special attention or care--the best friends. The religious authorities would also be right in pointing out homosexuality as a sin; intimate as friends may be, sex always is and always should be out of the question--unless those friends happen to be man and wife.
This is a very strange topic, to be sure; but I began considering this topic when I was told that somebody considers somebody else gay, because the somebody else happens to be particularly affectionate towards his friends. I name no names, but I'll probably continue this train of thought somewhere else, when I've got my thoughts properly in order.
Until then, I'll just be trying to achieve a state of calm and recover from the fright I gave myself.
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