Indifference

2009.06.07

I had a bad day yesterday.

I live in an older apartment on a streetcorner overlooking a park.  During the day, the park is frequented by walkers, bicyclists, soccer teams, and so forth.  At night, things are quiet.  Late-night joggers, walkers, pram-pushers, and dog-walkers go by quietly… as they should, when it’s nighttime.

But there is this one guy who, on a few separate occasions, brings his dogs down the street, and tries to control them when they start barking.  I say "tries" because he doesn’t make a very good effort.  He’s got three little yap-dogs, and when something excites them, they start barking.  All of them.  As you would expect.  But rather than pick the dogs up or walk them away, his solution is to stop, right there, and try to make all the dogs sit.  Needless to say, his efforts fail, and typically result only in more barking. This can go on for 2-3 minutes at a time – which, when it’s happening outside your bedroom window – seems like an eternity.

So last night, at 10PM, as my older daughter started complaining that she had run out of her medicine – medicine that is controlled and that only she can reorder and that she should have reordered but didn’t and now was suffering because of it and trying to make it my fault – the barking started up outside my window.

I lost my mind.

I flew outside, down the stairs, in my underwear, and started yelling. "Hey! That barking needs to stop! You bring those dogs around here every night to bark here right outside our bedroom windows! If you bring those dogs here again, I’m calling the police!" 

Okay, so, first, yes, I totally overreacted.  And I used nukes when conventional weapons or – gasp – even diplomacy might have worked better.  I was tired – tired of the barking, tired of the complaining from my family, tired of life.

And upon reflection, I felt worse, because I knew I had overreacted. And the guy’s response (not to mention the way he fails to manage his dogs) led me to believe that he must be a little bit retarded in some way. He didn’t apologize, nor did he yell back in anger – either of which would have been, I concede, appropriate – rather he tried and failed to pick up his dogs and run across the street. As he crossed the street he said "Oh, don’t go there, I don’t bring them every night, don’t go there, go ahead and call the police!"  Don’t go there?  I thought that was an odd thing to say.  After he crossed the street he literally ran off, dogs in tow, and didn’t come back – just a very strange situation overall.

So after my anger and indignation at the total idiocy of letting your dogs bark for minutes at a time in someone’s side yard wore off, and was replaced with the realization that this guy must really have been too stupid to know the difference (as in not mentally competent to be able to consider others’ needs), and that I therefore might have sandblasted a soup cracker with my comments, I was left to wonder at the total indifference of humans in general.

Because maybe this guy really is mentally retarded, which would explain the quantity of dogs, his lack of handling competence, the choice of breeds, and his response to their barking (and mine). 

Or on the other hand, maybe he’s just a sociopath.

Nevertheless, I felt bad on many levels.  I felt bad that I had overreacted. I felt bad that I might have inflicted more pain than was deserved in this situation (if indeed any was deserved at all).  I felt bad that this guy could be so indifferent, and bring this whole experience to me through that indifference.  And I had to take a stark look in the mirror at my own indifference, and how easily and frequently I dump on people just because it’s too hard not to, or I just don’t care when I should.

It’s a pathetic commentary against society, to call out its indifference to itself.  Doubly so, since I clearly suffer from it myself.  Would it be easier to care if life were better?  A moot if not rhetorical question: life isn’t better; therefore, I cannot know.

Inertia

2009.06.02

It is hard to write.

It’s hard to do anything, really.  But it’s especially hard to write.  I wonder why that is?  Fatigue?  Apathy?  Time?

I have this great software – Adobe Contribute CS4 – that is an absolute joy to use… and fantastic for blogging.  And I have things to say – things that seem very important to me at the time, and things that need to be said.

And yet, somehow, I cannot find the time to click on the little "Ct" icon, and type what I think into the computer.

I think right now that the problem is twofold.  Fatigue – I am always tired.  I have a job I really can’t stand, but which pays so well that I can’t leave. I have a 4-year-old daughter, who can be a huge joy but is always a huge drain.  She needs attention – from me specifically – and I have made it my goal to make sure she GETS all the attention she needs so that she grows up strong and healthy and independent – unlike her father (me), of course!

And time – I have no time.  Because in addition to the main job and the daughter, I have two side jobs, which always hint at the promise of paying really REALLY well, but, so far, haven’t quite started to do so, but which I also cannot give up because of my responsibilities to my family.

Certainly not apathy.  I do care.  I care about what I say here; or, put another way, I write about the things I care about.  And I care about my family, and my child, and making a record that she can explore when she’s older.  (Which reminds me that I might try video podcasting later on – wouldn’t THAT be fun!)  It’s just that at the end of the day, I’m too tired to do anything but crash.  So my writing here thus far has been sparse.

Things will doubtless get better in the future, but then only at their own costs: I will have more time to do the things I need to do (like read, and write, and eat more healthily, and exercise, and work to make more money), but at the expense of having less time with my daughter, who will be in school full-time in 16 months (time flies, primarily to bring us pain.)

Meanwhile each day is like the day before, and I am still alone, and worn out, with no time or strength. Just a lot of things and people I care about, and yet am unable to do or be with, respectively.   Lots of memories, and little hope.