I Know Why Mothers Eat Their Young

Doubt everything at least once, even the proposition that two times two equals four. - Georg Christoph Lichtenberg in the Zen Calendar (September 18, 2007).

Day 106. Damn I hate that last number. You'd think I'd get over it.

I'm beyond collapsing into a heap in the middle of my kitchen floor like Julie in Julie/Julia. She made it look so climactic and pivotal; I'm just in a really bad mood. I'm not going to be clever or cute or funny or philosophical. I plan on blogging a whopping big old whine, bowing, and sitting for precisely 25 minutes on my cushion. There is not one more iota of emotional energy to expend this evening.

My beloved son is home for 11 days before he returns to college for summer school in an attempt to redeem the academic scholarship he jeopardized by failing to meet the minimum required GPA this semester. This from the child who missed exactly one question on the math section of his SAT. Several of you know him as the gifted child that was accepted into Wake Forest and elected not to attend. So much for academic promise. That part where you have to turn in work whether or not you're participating in Spring Football Practice threw him for a loop. I pointed out the obvious: At the moment, it is his brain, not his brawn that is paying for school. If the football team elects to contribute to his scholarship fund, I may listen to his feeble attempts to justify such sucky grades. Until then, it's going to be a long, hot summer in the classroom.

This is the third computer on which I have attempted to compose tonight's blog. The same son constitutes a hazardous electromagnetic field of one, and apparently rendered not one, but two computers at home utterly useless. I wasn't sure whether to hurl the hard drives or him out onto the lawn amongst the melting hail stones. I realized that I've grown a bit fond of the old fossil in his room as I battled his fancy new Apple laptop. Eventually I gave up and walked to my office to try the computer here. Sounds impressive, but I only live two blocks away. I may spend the night here. There are plenty of cushions to choose from.

I had envisioned long, rambling conversations with my offspring while we munched warm gluten-free brownies fresh from my oven. We would harmoniously fold his mounds of laundry together while exchanging jocular anecdotes about our college days. This would be interspersed with stimulating intellectual dialogue regarding his fascinating coursework. Silly me.

The child cooks for himself now, albeit leaving the kitchen looking worse than that of the tornado-stricken home I worked on over the weekend. He's not interested in the piles of laundry because he still has over 48 hours at home, so what's the hurry? He probably blew up his computer by exceeding the Skype perimeters while talking to his girlfriend, a varsity rower at his college who is currently traveling with her team. The only thing he finds stimulating (other than the rower) is his brand new PS3 game, and our only conversational exchange occurred when he hollered at me to come admire its graphics. There was a distinct lack of harmony as we rode in my car together after we dropped off his 10-year-old vehicle for an estimated $1,200 worth of necessary repair. When was it that summer school starts?

Tonight is among the top two since beginning the blog that I question the sanity of undertaking this endeavor. I don't want to write or sit. I want to whine and sleep, not necessarily in that order. I returned to the bike Sunday and had a ride yesterday. After over a week off, I would have guessed that riding would be euphoric and rewarding. Silly me. Like my practice, riding felt full of doubt and boredom and apathy. I started to say it is meaningless and empty, but realized that is what I'm shooting for. Not that I'm supposed to be shooting for anything. The nonsensical conundrum of reading and practicing zazen has been filling me with agitation rather than serenity of late. This doesn't feel like escalating conflict in a story line that culminates with an eventful climax and resolution like all acceptable made-for-TV movies. It's not even fraught with sex and supercilious drama to qualify for a reality show. It just feels like life sucks.

In my present world, I'm not sure that two times two DOES equal four. I'm definitely doubting everything. Trust the Zen Calendar to reassure me that's exactly what I'm supposed to be doing.

Gassho,
CycleBuddhaDoc