A Glass Half Full

I am drunk. Standing in Ballantine Hall, at one of the Macs that, apparently, is here simply for student convenience. Listening to Badly Drawn Boy. Wishing I had more wine, or some beer, at home. Just finished Haruki Murakami's book "A Wild Sheep Chase" (which is in quotes because I can't figure out how to put shit in italics on this Mac). A good book, extremely entertaining, with enough "deep" dialogue to give a seeker of truth enough scraps to munch on for a few weeks.

It seems my whole life has been a search for God.

I've yet to find him.

What have I found? Love, good music, plenty of sex and desire, alcohol, literature. What will I do with it? Go to Africa, tell people about their farmland, educate some about the danger of HIV. Hopefully teach some creative writing, if all goes well. Am currently tutoring a South Korean student in conversational English and formal writing. I love it. He asks questions, unlike my Philosophy students (except you, Rebecca!), and he seems to genuinely want to learn everything I have to teach him. I wonder how to tell him that all I have are hopes. The study of literature is the search for truth, at least in my experience, and I haven't found it yet.

This weekend, at Adam's graduation party, I entertained three children, all under five, by sitting on a porch swing with them. There was a trash can in front of us, and one of the kids tried to kick it. I grabbed it by the handle, and said, "You should all kick it together, see how high you can get it." When they kicked, with their toes no bigger than baby shrimp, I would launch the trash can from the bottom with my own foot. It would hang in the air like a bubble, a heavy cloud. They were oblivious, thrilled at their strength. They could have kicked that can all day, and I love them for that.