20160208.0607

Work continues, as ever it must. I was not diligent over the weekend, so that while I did some few things (of which one appears here and another here), I did not do the grading that I was supposed to do. It remains in need of my attention, therefore, and it has found some company. I will be giving a private tutorial tomorrow, for which I need to prepare some materials, and I have finally gotten another freelance order in. Both will yield some additional funds, which those who dwell at Sherwood Cottage can certainly use, but both will demand more time, and that is always a problem. I suppose it is for the best, though; I do not do well without set tasks in front of me, and that is not the case at present. And, again, the money will be appreciated.

It is perhaps worth mentioning that I did not watch the game last night. A snippet of verse aside, I had no real engagement with it. I do not have television service, for one thing, and I do not frequent bars--I might go to one once in a month. Might. And I have never been "into" football--or any sport, really. It is part of being the great indoorsman that I am that I do not register such things as important, and I suppose it is part of why I do not do well out in public. Being an academic is not the problem, of course; many of my colleagues watched the game and are passionate about various sports fandoms. I want to think their careers are in better shape than mine, as well, and I have to wonder about causality. It is not the sport itself that does it, I know, but what the sport represents: immersion in the standards of popular cultural discourse. Community building. And because I do not really watch sports, because I cannot talk about them with any kind of authority, I am marked as being outside the community that values them--and many of the people I care about are inside it. Many of the people I might find useful are, as well, but I am closed off from them just a little bit more because I do not watch. And I might talk about correcting that problem, but I know I will not. I cannot take the time or expend the effort to do so. Work continues, after all.

More and more, I recognize myself as isolated. Part of me is bothered by this, although it ought not to be; I have spent enough of my life hiding away from things that I ought to be used to it by now. And part of me is not, both because of the aforementioned familiarity and because I recognize that it is likely for the best that I am as I am. It might help my family to have me go out and "live life" or "have fun," but it might well not; there is no guarantee that I would make a useful connection out in the world, and there is a damned good chance that I would spend money I cannot afford to or do something I ought not to do. I am and always have been risk-averse; I cannot move ahead with such odds in place. And, again, work continues; it is, at least, a relatively certain thing.