PTSD

from safety to where

A post on random things, saying farewell and, of course, the coup.

- From today: It's far funnier to look upon a conversation from the outside rather than to participate in it. The three words, "oh, you too?" have never been as amusing as they were on Tuesday night (yes, E, I'm talking about you and you know who).

- From Saturday: "What's the best way to eat brains?" is not a line I often hear. Especially, if it's followed up by comments about whether fried brains or brains-with-egg is best. The conversation about how to eat brains formed a large part of the (farewell) gig on Saturday.

- While driving to farewell gig on Saturday: The anomie-laded policy on child-rearing: let it loose in your backyard, without any pants on, and let go. Eventually, when the child's able to stand, you can hose it down with the garden pipe before bringing it indoors. A good method of making sure your garden is better fertilised than any other gardens in the 'hood.

- Over the weekend: "Marriage isn't all that it's cracked up to be" and "if someone tells you they are happily married, then there's surely something wrong there". In my family, people are told marriages are bloody hard work and often seem worthless and depressing but then you have kids and it's all downhill from there* but eventually you die and (possibly) go to Heaven**. Not many people "crack up" marriage since that would automatically lead to more folks trooping down to the closest watering-hole as if there's not enough of that already.

-On Saturday: "I try to tell him to exercise and lose weight but he just thinks that just happens."

- On Tuesday: Getting emails from various family members who now insist in (re)living the (good old) days of Army dictatorship (Grandpa, who moved to Thailand in the early 1960s, the heyday of military dictatorship and the start of the alliance with the United States) or the glory days of student protests (Dad, who was there during the 1973 protests. As is the norm with student protests in general, these were summarily crushed by the Army) with both agreeing on how they predicted this would happen.

- On Tuesday night: realising one's palm is a repository for heaps of blood when said palm was cut open by a glass piece broken off from a vase which fell off a shelf which itself misbalanced because one of the (tuna) cans holding it up was jolted out of position as I tried to do multiple tasks at once. If any of my students write something along the lines of that previous sentence, I'll not be happy.

- In the wee hours of Wednesday morning: Obsessing about my next class (which is the final one before we divide up the rest of the semester into chunks of "research traditions") on "Literature Review". How to do one and what's the point of it. I'll report on it to yous when it's all over.


* Though my parents have always made the excellent point that kids provide free labour around the house. Not that PTSD advocates child labour in any way but you know those little rugrats can be helpful, especially when they grow up a bit and can carry things around and go shopping.

** Yes, for most of my family. Not so for a PTSD-reading one who shall remain anonymous.

posted by Priya @ 2:18 AM