I have returned from my first official function of the new academic year. It signals that classes resume in only another week. I am actually eager for classes to start to give me a change. For many reasons, a malaise has settled upon my little cottage over the past few days.
Giving your emotions names in other languages always makes them seem a bit more interesting, don’t you think? Malaise sounds more regal, for instance, than the colloquial English “down in the dumps.” Using words in other languages implies that your feelings are profound enough to transcend linguistic barriers.
Then again, malaise also makes me think of Jimmy Carter (who, for the record, never actually used the word in the "malaise" speech). This makes me think of the gross Reagan presidency and they way that he told Americans it was okay to hate again. This just adds to the malaise.
There is something about the last days of summer that always seem kind of sad. It is the in-between time of summer and autumn. All of the trees and plants seem exhausted after giving their all. Yet, they are not quite ready to explode into the oranges and reds that mark their descent into winter sleep.
School children look unusually somber upon the realization that the good times have come to an end (Parents, on the other hand, look quite cheerful). University students start pouring into the town and I am confronted by countless tearful scenes of parents saying goodbye to their children (which is bitter sweet).
This time of year always also makes me miss New Mexico. It has been soooo long since I have lived there during the fall, but it was my favorite time of year. The god-forsaken heat will usually start to break. Then the air is filled with the aromas of various supermarkets roasting the green chile harvest. I am quite nostalgic about New Mexico.
Sigh – Then again, GayProf is nostalgic about everything. I yearn for the bygone times of this morning’s coffee. That was great and will never be again. . .
Or maybe my mood is a little out whack because I finally dragged my lazy carcass to a new gym. It took me a while to decide on a new fitness location in Midwestern Funky Town. After surveying a variety of sources, I determined that I would go private to avoid running into students at the university facilities. Sometimes it’s good to have a clear divide between work and private life.
Going back to the gym, though, reminds me of my love/hate relationship with the whole thing. Clearly, given the amount that I talk (and blog) about hating the gym, it is not one of my favorite activities. Yet, given the amount of time I spend there, clearly I must get something out of it.
I figure that it is a constant battle between mind and body. Or I have split personality. Whatever. Either way, this is pretty much how I imagine it going:
Mind: Ugh – I need to be sure that I don’t balloon up to five hundred pounds.
Body: Wouldn’t you rather rest and relax?
Mind: No, we need to keep up the hard work. My goals at the gym are modest. I just want to stay fuckable.
Body: Ugh – That joke again? Aren’t you tired of it? And didn’t you steal it from some other gay writer anyway?
Mind: Probably. Now, lift!
Body: You know – I could easily process a pint of ice cream instead.
Mind: Yeah – Process it straight into fat.
Body: It will be a cold winter. You'll want that fat come January.
Mind: January will be even colder if I am not fuckable.
Body: Yeah – Need I remind you of the singular gay bar in town? Your choices for warmth are either let me get fat or buy a space heater.
Mind: There’s always Decaying Midwestern Urban Center.
Body: Aren’t you supposed to be working on the Never Ending Project of Doom?
Mind: Quiet, you.
Body: You should be sitting at the computer right now. Not making me lift this shit.
Mind: Lifting that shit is supposed to relieve the stress about the Never Ending Project of Doom.
Body: Who told you that fairy tale?
Mind: It’s all about you releasing endorphins.
Body: Oh.My.God. You are going to exhaust me to the point where I am forced to drug myself to ease the pain???
Mind: It’s healthy.
Body: It’s sick. Let’s fry up some sopapillas instead!
Mind: Hey – Didn’t you used to be able to life ten pounds more than this just last month?
Body: Didn’t you used to read three books a week in grad school?
Mind: Touché.
Body: This new ab machine always gives me a wedgie. You suck for bringing us here.
Mind: I thought a key benefit of boxer briefs was the avoidance of the wedgies.
Body. Yeah, there’s a real worthy inner dialog to be having. Wedgies suck – Let’s cruise by Dairy Queen, pretend like it’s somebody’s birthday, and buy an ice cream cake.
Mind: If you work through this set, maybe I will.
Body: You lie. Why do you lie??
Mind: At least we had a month off from the gym. It should make everything seem new and interesting again.
Body: Or old and still heavy. Wouldn’t you rather be having a Cape Cod right now?
Mind: Yes – Damn it! When will I find a gym with a bar?
Body: There's vodka in the freezer at home . . .
Mind: This will add years to my life.
Body: Years spent toiling.
Mind: You’ll thank me when we are eighty.
Body: Eighty??? That’s, like, forever from now. You plan to live that long??? No way, man. I am blowing out our heart at age 55.
Mind: Eighty won't feel old if we keep exercising. Our quality of life will be great.
Body: Look, man, out of the two of us, it's not going to be me who gives out first anyway.
Mind: What do you mean?
Body: I am not the one having imaginary conversations between two parts of himself. I am not sayin’, I am just sayin’.
