Scribo Ergo Cogito (I think therefore I write)

Hallelujah or really? I have started to write again, it has been a long slow progress, getting my writing mojo going again. Lots of reasons why such a lengthy hiatus they can be … oh I know blog posts. Highly personal, sometimes offensive, potty-mouthed at times however authentic, a reflection of me if you wish, so lets start at the very beginning of the decline as it were, (as good as any place) I think, it all started with a door (that’s another subject as well, doors).

I was trying to crack the nod as it were as a provisional teacher, I did some relief at a school and they offered me a short-term reliving contract (two terms). It was a hospital pass that I didn’t see coming. I was to be the 5th teacher in two terms to tackle a class of year nine pupils teaching English. These young people were at the bottom of the learning ratings with behavioural issues and learning difficulties at all sorts of levels, from coming to school high on meth, through to being bone tired because they were working to help support their families. I didn’t ask the right questions so essentially it was my own fault, I went ahead and did it. One of the teachers had been on extensive time off because of a concussion issue, the others had bailed in varying states of distress or thankfulness that they had escaped.

The night before I was due to start I was horsing around with one of my sons, pretending to chase him with a fairly large hammer (just under 2 kgs). I chased him into the bedroom and he shut the door on me knocking me out. Needless to say, I didn’t feel the best! However, I soldiered on anyway as I didn’t;’t want to ring the school and say I had concussion. (I clearly did). (Strike 1) The first day there one of my more polite students when asked to engage enquired of me “Would you like me to knock you the fuck out…., sir?) I had to add the polite bit really. At that point I should have bailed and just gone heck no I won’t go, however, permanent jobs were few and far between, with many very experienced teachers selling their Auckland homes and moving to the Waikato cashed up and able to buy freehold and in some instances even a place at the beach as well.

I had earlier applied for a one-term relieving position and the Principal let me know that they had 45 applicants for the job and that I shouldn’t feel bad as the person who took it was fully registered and had 15+ years of experience. I had trained on the basis of English Teachers being in hot demand however found that was not so in the Waikato, I desperately wanted to be working rather than the alternatives so I was prepared to commute to Auckland daily (strike 2).

I persevered, throwing everything in the book that I had from freestyling rap lessons to refusing to allow some students in the class to attend due to their ongoing behavioral issues. The school in question straddled a divide between some fairly affluent suburbs through to what some might say were effluent. The culture of the school seemed to be rather insular (partly I guess because of its size) and partly due to the way it structured its learning, add a new Principal in and it was not a cohesive place.

Back to strike 1, tiredness and fatigue dogged me, apart from the 4-hour commute there and back and being a full-time sole parent to 4 I was clearly out of my depth. Having just come from a dysfunctional school where a senior staff member had been committing sexual crimes against pupils I wanted to work it out and hopefully that would help crack the nod for a permanent position.

Concussion injuries manifest in a myriad of ways I have found out. I was simply dumb in continuing in the job. To be frank I was out of my depth, I was struggling, didn’t really know where to turn to, I didn’t fit in the highly urban environment, it was foreign to me and I didn’t fit in with the staff. I don’t point any fingers around that, I was a very small cog in a very big clock, and in the end, if I had stopped working the clock may have skipped a second but then with a step like a rugby winger bursting through his opponents, it would have kept on ticking.

The end came when a student (without malice or intent) crept up to a door I was holding and pulled it out of my grasp in the process blowing my shoulder apart, it wasn’t helped when an eager newly qualified physiotherapist thought traction would sort it after all it was merely bursitis (a misdiagnosis). I finished my term at the school. I guess it probably looked cloudy however I was unable to drive for 4 hours a day and cope with the shoulder injury as well as coping with concussion. I had been going to apply for a permanent position however I was told not to bother as it was already earmarked for another beginning teacher.

To say I was disappointed was true, I constructed my own narrative of my time at the school instead of just accepting that I am not a round peg. This narrative when I look back is embarrassing, frankly stupid, and unnecessary, there is nothing wrong with admitting you cannot cope or you do not fit. In the end, it was pretty irrelevant as my shoulder injury was somewhat more extensive than what was first diagnosed with my hands turning different colours, a huge loss of strength and mobility, and add the ongoing concussion issues I didn’t continue teaching.

I had stepped away from statutory social work, burnt out from all the assaults and threats, retrained, and found myself in a place where actually on a numerical basis the assaults threats and pure antagonism were worse than working at Child Youth and Family, (the only difference was that the assaults were much more minor). I had not understood when I left the Department that I needed to carry my registration through so without another two possibly three years of study I was not able to be a registered social worker, essentially consigning me to working as under valued, underpaid, overworked resource worker.

I guess that is really enough for today, my shoulder is certainly telling me that, and brain fog is slowly descending again. So I will leave it there to continue.

Paul

To All The Words I Used To Know

E Tu Brutus ,That one may smile, and smile, and be a villain, ‘A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesmen and philosophers and divines..  I call myself a poet and a writer, but don’t ask me to remember great gushing gouts of Shakespeare or to unleash illuminating lines from Emerson,

Factum est quod Factum est (what’s done is done)

2017 is finishing, for me, not in a whiz bang fireworks way but with a kind of sad exhausted whimper. I look back over my year, bugger all written, a messy kind of separation, surgery, health challenges, village idiots and foil hat wearers ad nauseam. 

How do I see myself?

Are you worried that you are getting married to an invalid, a question my fiance fielded the other day? When she told me I was taken aback for a while, short on words which if you know me, is an unusual occurrence. I have sat on this for a while as I try to process it.

How we see ourselves is often vastly different to how others see us, perhaps that is a  of  a function of an unrealistic appraisals in our own head and sometimes it is a result of other people just not knowing who we are and making assumptions, a truncated definition for sure however it is a place to start this conversation from.  What is an invalid is a place to start from perhaps,the oxford online dictionary says “A person made weak or disabled by illness or injury”.  Well at a certain level that is true for me t the moment, there is a distinct difference between a definition of invalid and a societal construct of an invalid. Essentially in my experience society constructs its meaning of invalid from that which someone does to earn money and how they participate in society.

Some people will moot that being an invalid is just a state of mind, if you have enough will you can do anything, well with all the will in the world I am not going to be an All Black winger, a waterboy perhaps but likely not.  I don’t have any context as to what the comment arrived from, I know that the last few years have had their challenges for sure.  Perhaps the result of old injuries although it is also a result of a health system that just doesn’t work well if yo have a chronic ongoing problem, especially if you are seen to cope.

The reality for me of this strikes home today, back relief teaching and already after a short time of writing on the whiteboard I am having significant difficulties, and I am writing this because I am unable to stand up for the  40 minutes of assembly, not a pain in the arse but in the foot and shoulder.  Almost a year from when my shoulder was injured and I am not any better than when I started.  possible surgery looms which would be great, unfortunately it is not just the shoulder that needs surgery. if only… This brings me back to work, can’t walk far, stand for long write on the whiteboard… Not allowed to lift, I can’t do the alternative things I would do for a living, perhaps I am an invalid.

Sure there are things I can do slowly, I have learnt to paint left handed, any vacancies for a lefthanded, rough but slow painter?  Well I can still write, my brain is apparently working still, which is a good thing.  I am trying to develop business ideas and I need to write more.  Can I turn these into income streams? Perhaps, that remains to be seen.  The frustration is not so much about income, although that is always a challenge, but participating in life, it is about exercise, about day to day living, it is about life.  At 52 I am not quite ready for a wheelchair yet and I have some goals to reach. If I could wave a wand and fix it all I would however a fairy I am not, nor have I found  genie so that leaves few options. So what to do..

I am painting my house through at the moment, time for a shift, however it is a big task, I can achieve it, but only by doing it one bite at a time, just realising that actually there are some limits to what I can do and what I can’t and working within those.  If I focus on the overall size of the task then I would just trow my hands up in the air and capitulate.  I think that is a truism in life.  I have often read how people get into really deep holes because of not breaking down things into manageable chunks, I have heard people say that they just gave up and the end result has been something huge and unmanageable for them.  I certainly understand that as well, especially when the path to progress involves battling with authorities to get surgery.  that becomes very boring and takes a lot of energy and frankly seems too hard.   However sometimes that is the only way to get what one needs.

Well quite a ramble really but it comes back to the construct of do I see myself as an invalid?  Well I guess by the definition of the dictionary I am , by my own definition well no.  I engage with life as much as I can but I know I am out of balance, can’t walk for exercise and not supposed to ride my bike, I might stuff my shoulder up more.  I am more worried about my head space than my arm space so watch this space….

Paul.

Like My Life #National Poetry day

National Poetry Day I used to call myself a poet, more lately a writer, I have dropped a few poems onto paper and I still have my book ready to go.  I am a published writer and my work has been bought.  It was a big thing for me, people actually read my words and paid for the opportunity to do that.  Today is National Poetry day and in honour of that I write.

Like my life.

Today I sit, wonder and think

I look out at the world

Candy Crush , really? No thanks I am on a diet!

 

Here it is open permission (with a small caveat).  I, Paul Cronin, being of reasonably sound mind and slightly broken down body, officially give permission for any of my friends to hold a pillow over my face till I expire.  Now here are the caveats, firstly it will have to wait for a month or so until my ulcer has healed as I will expect to have been provided with a quality bottle of single malt Irish whiskey, You know something that is faintly reminiscent of a peat fire, on the smoky side, rough enough to be expensive and with a kick of an Irish punter who has one too many. Back up the horse buddy I can hear you say, your last post was a didactic rant about the evils of alcohol addiction and here you are arguing for euthanasia, assited by alcohol, perhaps I better explain.

I am a bit grumpy at the moment. I will hold my hand up and confess to that.  I can’t really talk about it in a public forum right now, suffice to say if anyone is interested drop me a line, broken dreams  haunting me like a groundhog day.  So if you detect cynicism, sarcasm, derision, and a general ill-humour, arohamai my friends. If I personally offend you then please contact me and perhaps we can work it out.

I read a status the other day that expressed a frustration around not being able to graduate to another level on candy bleep bleep crush At some primeval level a darkly malevolent  epithet formed on my lips.Now I have played video games and computer games, albeit many years ago. I was quite a fan of Sims, Solitaire, and for a while Command and Conquer, oh and that stupid archer shoot the balloons game.  Somewhere some how in the last few years I have lost all desire to play those games in fact over all I am pretty adverse to game playing. I do play cards every week which is good as it forces me to be social and reminds me of the benefits of friends and family.  So face to face games that involve human interaction I do enjoy as long as they do not get too competitive.  Competition is ok but it can bring out the worst in some people and the only thing worse than a poor loser is a less than gracious winner.  I don’t need that in my life and am happy to walk away from that or just refuse to play with people like that.

Not withstanding any of that narrative I don’t play games for a couple of reasons.  I would much rather write or read than sit at a computer screen punching at buttons in some meaningless quest.  I find the stimulation of having to think when I write (no cracks about that please  ) suits me much better and I am in much more danger of learning something when I read or write.  I learn about myself when I write, and about myself and others when I read.  I also learn about others when I get feedback about my writing which by the way I enjoy.  I would hope that at some level I am pushing buttons and getting people to engage with my thoughts and hopefully themselves.

I certainly hope not to be in that place of a careless provocateur and sometimes I do equivocate before I write because I know that I will push buttons for some people and some of my writing may be hurtful.  Never deliberately I hope but the role of a poet and I do call myself that is to engage, to influence and to inspire readers with mastery of language as intertwined with ideas and emotions.  I try to bring that into my blogging.The mastery of language well I do not say that I have that at all but I hope within my blogging I certainly meet the other criteria especially emotion and ideas, as I reflected on my last post it felt a bit dry in the emotions department, however it worked for some people and that is enough for me. Enough of that n ow, back to the whiskey.

If you ever find me sitting on the computer mindlessly playing games it will be because I have most likely lost the plot, kindly offer me a bottle of single malt and you can borrow one of my pillows, gently put me out of my misery.  You see if I find myself blobbing out with games then I will know that my adversary, mediocrity, has struck a mortal blow.

Paul

 

Facing fear sometimes means facing failure.

The road to mediocrity is paved with unpublished works, un-written novels, memoirs, epics, poetry thought of in the middle of the night but never committed to paper.  Regrets I’ve had a few myself that is for sure but I don’t regret my first venture into crowd funding.  I have a few mottos that I live by, never ask a question unless you want to hear the answer is one of them.  You will never know the answer unless you ask the question is another.  I recently asked the question, did anyone else support my vision for publishing my book of poems.  Now I need to refine that what I should say did anyone outside of my normal circle believe in it enough to pledge to help fund it.  The answer was no.  I received two pledges which I acknowledge with gratitude, and messages of support as well. I don’t have any regrets,  I will publish it is just a matter of priorities with finance.  Simply put I need to buy other things for my family first and that is right and proper.

Now in terms of failure this is not a real big deal, I have faced much more public failures before when standing for public office.  No matter how much I think that I would be a great member of parliament, the simple facts are that not enough other people thought so at the time. Nor did they trust me with local government.  We face failure in many different ways in our lives, exams assessments, job applications, declaring our love for another, competing in events , the list is extensive.  We are resilient well at least I am and I know there are some keys for that resilience.

I will not lie and say that I am not disappointed that my project did not make its goal, I am and that is natural, why it is that we are expected to stay stoic and brave, well there is an allergy to showing your emotions I guess.  Not that I have taken to my room at all.  There is a much bigger issue here rather than will my book get funded and that is will people like my poetry.  On that I guess I would like people to enjoy it, be challenged, informed, enraged, comforted and inspired.  But above all else I truly don’t mind.  For me the challenge will be getting it to the printer, having it in my hot hand and sending two copies off to the National Library.

Not that this will be my crowning glory as I hope to write much more in the future.  The failure I fear above all else is that I worry that as a father I am a failure.  I see my children struggle on occasion and I examine myself and think I should have taught them better, been a better example, been more supportive.  I wish I had more finances to help them out, I want to protect them more from the world.  I am sure that many other parents face the same fears.  The thing is your children and the people around you have choice and in the end it is up to them.  One can only guide and do ones best, knowing that you are yourself an imperfect vessel trying to do your best and it is in the trying that redemption comes.

For me as much as I would love to see my name in the lights as a successful author to know that my children love me and are proud to be my children will be enough and I would give all I have to achieve that.  For me success as a parent is measured in hugs and words, not in qualifications or awards.  I love you is enough reward in my life.

Sometimes our children will fail as we ourselves do so, if we teach them well that is not to see failure as a disaster but an opportunity then we will have done a good job.  Too many young people are afraid of failure and refuse to take responsibilty for their actions, where have they learnt this from is the question we need to ask.  We need to learn to model responsibility and demand that those around us either in authority or leadership model the same behavior and take away the culture of blame that stifles and strangles the life out of us. When we do those around us will also.

Take care, face your fears and do it anyway!

Paul