I had a dream, I was at a jiu-jitsu tournament, in a hard-fought match that saw a few sweeps and reversals. I lost 6-4, and cried.
I also
noticed it had been a long time since I got awakened by fucknuggets blowing up
bombs outside my window. Maybe there’s a new regulation against that
sociopathic nonsense.
I had a
double with the twelfth-graders, going through some exam questions about
electrophoresis and chromatography, then some senior students interviewed me
for the school magazine. They asked me why I started teaching chemistry, why I
came to China, why I came to this school. The answers are all “I dunno... it
just happened I guess” but I made up a more compelling story for each.
Then I went
to play badminton a bit with some twelfth-graders, got back to the office for a
bit of prepping, and then rode home. I was listening to a Jocko Willink podcast
about Chesty Puller, the legendary US Marine general, and his son. Lewis Puller
Jr got blown to bits in Vietnam and was dealing with his serious handicap, the
anti-war sentiment in the USA, and the mental degeneration of his elderly
father. Harrowing story. It ends in alcoholism and suicide.
I went home,
ate a bunch of leftovers and played with the dog. I didn’t feel like going back
to school but a good worker bee has gotta do what a good worker bee does. I had
two classes, and in between, I watched a documentary about Franco-Americans,
émigrés from Quebec who ended up in New England. It was in black and white and
the French-speakers hanging out at a bar in Massachusetts were already old and
talking about the “young generations” having lost their French. There was also
an interview with Jack Kerouac on Quebec TV, he spoke fluently but with a bit
of an accent probably unlike mine, after living abroad for so long. Who knows,
maybe I’m a pioneer of an emergent Quebeco-Chinese community and journalists in
the year 2060 will come and interview me.
I went home
and didn’t do much, I still felt a bit under the weather and had to wake up
early the next day.
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