So, I've been in a pretty good mood- actually expecting GOOD to happen. It's been nice. But, of course, it doesn't take much to revert back to negative, existential angst me. I actually think that it's only when I have too much time on my hands that I get moody- idle hands, I guess. Work will start up soon enough, but before I get caught up in the more productive life, I thought I'd indulge my moodiness, take it to a bookstore and exhaust it for what it's worth.
Last night we watched The Constant Gardener starring Ralph Fiennes (he loves him some movies with planes in Africa). The movies was good enough, and even though I could tell that the book is better (the whole "garden" metaphor got lost in the film), I was reminded that my faith in "things working out" is indeed brought on because of the economic and geological circumstances that I was born into (middle class America). I won't get into the sordid details, but basically I was reminded that there are millions of people whose lives are hideous. As I watched African children playing near garbage in this fictional film, I couldn't help but wonder about their laughter; how all kids smile easy, how Jack smiles easy and it isn't until later that we realize (do we) how bad or good we do have it. I woke up down, wallowing in my middle class angst, wondering what was the point of wallowing, yet still feeling bad. My politics, as usual, veering right, but tempered by an emotional left. I refuse to become some cliched version of white middle class guilt - I'm much more interested in figuring out the meaning of life (that way I don't have to deal with the individual sufferings, you know - and I can keep it all academic and selfish).
So, I took my angst and drove to Borders at the Atrium Mall (yes, I did) where I purchased Bertrand Russel's The History of Western Philosophy just so I can intellectualize my frustration at trying to answer all the big questions. Big questions that will no doubt fall by the wayside when I have to deal with the know-it-all 18-year old male in the back row of my classroom snorting at my diatribe about the importance of critical thinking. I sat down after browsing and buying, sipped on the best chai latte I've ever had and started reading. Immediately I missed Jack & Ed (it took the usual 30 minutes just to drive the 7 miles to the Boston destination and another 10 to park). I wonder if I will really read this book - or if buying it will curb any personal philosophical searchings. I don't want to be that person - the one who wonders, examines for a day or so, and then moves on, developing some lame, surface ideas based purely on emotion and goes about her life narrowly focused on only what's in front of me. YOU KNOW?
Of course, with all these musings, I've begun to feel the panic of work (or lack there of), so in part to avoid any deep (and probably boring) philisophical ramblings and in part to pay the bills, I'm heading off to bookbuilders.com to see what other Boston publisher might need some freelancer.