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Since my husband abandoned me on a weekend that held not just Valentine’s Day but also a three-day holiday, I went on a dreaming spree. And boy, is he paying for it: he has to listen and marshal counterarguments to my willfulness. Which pretty much defines our marriage, come to think of it, only this onslaught of mine is a little more intense than usual. Because,
Internets, I have a hankering to discover the world. Sooner rather than later, preferably. So my plan is as follows:
1. Sell our house, preferably for about $10k more than we paid for it (ha, ha?) in order to break even, what with fences, hardwood floor redoing, landscaping, and other miscellany we’ve done to it, plus closing costs. I don’t know if this is even possible, but judging by what other houses are going for on our street and in our part of town, it seems plausible.
2. Loan Lucy to my parents. We’d miss her terribly, but she might not be the best traveling companion.
3. Give Trollop back to the devil, from whence she came, and Orwell to my parents or any other nice home where he’d be welcome to hide under a bed all day. Every day. For all his life.
4. Sell or store our junk, including our car and pickup.
5. Renew our passports and get vaccinations.
6. Once steps 1 through 5 were secured, we’d quit our jobs. This would be painful, as we both have jobs we enjoy, and income is always a bonus, but it’s the last thing tying us down, and a necessary step.
Aside from our mortgage, which we would no longer have, we don’t have any long-term debt obligations. We could leave our 401ks dormant, withdraw from savings and put the cash from our house sale in the highest-interest-yielding account possible. Then we’d kiss our mothers goodbye and go see the world.
But.
Just “seeing the world” isn’t a good enough reason for me. It’s fine for others, but I’m not content being a tourist-consumer — I hate that feeling. (That also explains why we never get gifts for people when we travel. Just see the claptrap of a tourist shop makes me shiver.) I envision being more of a tourist-worker, even if it’s not for pay, because I want to not just see new places, but see who lives there and how they work. Specifically, I would love to do agri- or eco-tourism. And when I’m done, I can come home, live in a tiny house on a river with a big garden and composting toilet, and officially apply for hippie status. I may even grow out my leg hair which, come to think of it, could be Matt’s biggest reservation with the plan. (Easily solvable problem: I’ll let him grow out his beard.)
But in my current state, I am not a bona fide hippie or environmentalist. I fell off the biology bandwagon in college (curse you, chemistry, my nemesis!) and have regretted not working with hands and plants and animals ever since. (People are just so fucking complex, you see.) Fortunately, there are organizations willing to take and train people like me, which is good since I’d like my husband to go along with this perfectly logical, well-thought-out scheme. Organizations include:
- WWOOF.org, the Worldwide Organization of Organic Farmers where we go live and work on farms for short stints in exchange for room and board. Imagine getting to learn how to build and live in sustainable shelters and grow organic products for free or at a very low cost. Plus you can do this all over the world!
- the7interchange.com arranges eco and social volunteer projects around the world. Some range from several days to a year (maybe more); some require you to know local languages, and some don’t; some are exotic, some are in the U.S.; for some you need specialized experience that we wouldn’t qualify for, but for others you just need hands and a brain and a willingness to learn.
- Then there’s voluntourism.org, another site that coordinates volunteering in short, vacation-length stays. This organization seems a little more lengthy in its application process and I’m not sure it would work very well for traveling from one destination to another, but it might.
And I’m sure there are others.
Voluntouring would be the catalyst for moving from point to point; we could take side routes on the way, work cash jobs here and there if we could find them, and take a few days to see around the areas we’d be working. But voluntouring would make the trip all the more meaningful. We might not have fabulous trinkets when we get back, but I bet we’d have great stories and ideas.
What if…
There’s always the insurance question. Sure, we’d no longer be paying auto, home, or other normal insurance policies, but what if something happened in the course of our travels? Emergency appendectomy, lost tooth, etc.? There are companies who cover that type of occurance. I’m sure it’s slightly more expensive, but one quote I got from World Nomads was six months of insurance for $260 per person. It doesn’t cover everything, of course, but it can provide emergency help — which is all you really anticipate.
Traveling
Traveling is sure to be the most expensive part of the deal, especially since it can cost a thousand bucks from one continent to the next, per person. But here, too, there are options. Courier.org allows you to fly as a passenger on courier planes (oops, wrote “pigeons” there for a second…my head got really happy with that visual) for slightly cheaper than you might a commercial plane, and I hear there’s no fee for checking baggage (not that we’d need to; I suspect this would be a backpack-type trip). You can also book multi-destination tickets for cheaper than buying them one hop at a time. For example, flying from Portland to Honolulu to New Zealand, and to Sydney on a multi-destination ticket costs $1,000; flying straight to Sydney costs the same amount. Schedule your flights roughly two to three weeks apart, and you’re gold. If you want to leave early, you can just go on standby on the next available flight.
It won’t be cheap, but I estimate that we can do the bulk of our traveling for just a few thousand dollars each. Food and lodging when we’re not with a host will also be expensive, but hostels are cheap and relatively plentiful for our intended destinations, so I think we’ll be able to afford it. A few good books (and used bookstores wherever we go), and we’ll be able to wile away the hours in airports waiting standby.
Voíla!
Places to go
Because he is a nice person, and he may have felt terrible for having such a great time without me over a three-day, Valentine’s weekend, Matt has been accommodating my current, ultra-planning mood. He even went so far as to list his preferred worldwide destinations, with the caveat that we end up in Europe and take as long as we like (and as long as we still have money) to see every square foot of Germany. He even volunteered to learn German.
The language barrier is a huge issue, though. Unfortunately, neither of us speaks more than a little Spanish, so we thought it would be best if we confined our tourist-worker destinations to places where we would speak the same language as our host family or group. Thus, I researched countries that speak or primarily speak English, cross-referenced them with countries the U.S. State Department doesn’t recommend U.S. citizens traveling to (nothing would put a damper on this trip like being, say, kidnapped) as well as the countries where visa restrictions are problematic, had Matt rank his favorites, and came up with a map that shows just the places we may tour as workers:
It goes something like this: a couple places in the Caribbean, Suriname, Guyana, Fiji, New Zealand, Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Israel, Madagascar, the Seychelles, Israel, Ireland, the Isle of Man, Gibraltar, then Europe.
I realize that some of this is heavily anglo-centric (New Zealand, Australia, Ireland), but again — this is the map of where we might travel and work. It does not include the places we would stop at on our way. Personally, I want to see more of China, Japan, Argentina, and Brazil, not to mention Malta, Turkey, and India, which I hope we’d be able to do along the way, or on trips that aren’t too far out of the way.
We can’t see all of it, but I bet we could see a pretty huge chunk.
In the end, if we do this, I can’t imagine we’ll be worse off for having seen so much of the world. We’ll have learned skills, customs, and lifestyles different from our own; we’ll have met people and made friends along the way. Sure, we’ll be a lot poorer at the end — but so what? So we work a few more years. And anyway, life isn’t guaranteed to go on that long, is it, so why not do it now, while we can?
I’ve been thinking that Dutch Bros. should sell a Monday-morning, week-starter beverage that loosely involves about five shots of coffee and a pound of sugar (pure cane, of course; none of that corn syrup rubbish). I think today that, and only that, beverage could get me started on the mound — nay, butte — of grading I need to do. Which is to serve as the segue into how this quarter is going, which I will neatly summarize for you:
Hell.
Teaching three writing classes is not doable, or at least not for me. The only way I have a single nostril above water right now is because my research writing class is in the research phase; even that is slated to end this week as the annotated bibliographies come in. Of course part of the stress is teaching two new classes, where I have to devise new lesson plans (oddly, it’s the daily grammar lessons that are sapping my will to live…hmm, tangent:
I learned this teaching ESL learners: if you don’t teach grammar, students complain that they don’t learn grammar. If you do teach grammar, students either don’t apply what you’ve learned (because writing is more complicated that sample sentences on an overhead projector), or they don’t care, or they believe they are the exceptions who may abuse grammar because they think they know better. Which they don’t. In my experience, the only way to learn grammar is to use grammar, and revise until you learn how to use it correctly. I don’t know how to teach this effectively.).
Anyway. This is week five, I think, so we’re nearly halfway through. That does not, however, in any way help me get started on what needs to be done this week. It’s a strangely paralytic feeling, knowing how much needs to be done and not being able to actually summon the strength to do it, then stressing about the mounting stress, then imagining my dad saying, “Quit fiddling around and get started,” which only further stymies my will to live.
And the water, I can feel it seeping into that last remaining nostril.
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Edit: five hours later, I have more or less gotten my shit together, have quit feeling quite so sorry for myself, and am … er, don’t remember how this sentence was going to end, as I’m not fixated on whether “gotten” is a word. Okay, it is. Life can go on.
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Edit No. 2: six hours later, I am finished; better yet, the last few papers were great!
I do not know if memory is serving or disserving me, but I recall some time ago when my sister offered me a teapot that had been our grandmother’s. I was excited to have something of hers, as she died when I was six and I barely remember her. What I do remember is the scent of my grandma’s perfume and the six-packs of bottled Diet Pepsi we would keep in our basement for her, which she used to wash down her pain meds as she died of cancer. I guess the theory — aided and abetted by my grandfather, M.D. — was that the caffeine helped the medicine kick in faster. Indeed, Excedrin and other headache meds often have caffeine as an ingredient, so my backcountry doctor-grandfather may have been right.
Anyway, I gladly accepted the gift. My grandparents enjoyed collecting the finer things in life: gems and crystals, pottery, jewelry (which of course they never wore, being staunch E.G. White-thumping Adventists), and I assumed that this teapot was a treasure they had picked up on one of their many travels, perhaps in China or, given the design of the pot, England. So today, as I beheld the pile of grading ahead of me, I decided the only way through this involved tea.
I lifted down the pot and took awhile to examine it. It is ceramic and cream-colored, with a wicker-like texture (the kind you may have seen in wedding cakes frosted back in the 1980s). On its front are a few pink, nondescript flowers clearly envisioned by a ceramic artist who spent most of his time indoors. I would hazard that the flowers are something of a cross between roses and camelias, with perhaps the stamen of hibiscus thrown in for artiness.
I am very careful whenever I handle this teapot, as it has an elegant spout that pours well (something that can not be said for every other teapot I’ve owned) and I don’t want to chip any part of the squat little thing. Yet today, as I rinsed it carefully in the sink, when I turned it over I noticed the following inscription on the bottom:
So much for a family heirloom. Now instead of the spirit of my dearly departed grandmother inspiring me to finish grading, all I can think about is how overpriced and ugly nearly every Teleflora arrangment is that I’ve seen. And given the date on the stamp — 1985 — this was probably sent as a gift to my grandmother just after she’d been diagnosed with incurable breast cancer. Thanks a lot, fate.
This latest spam comment got caught in my filter, and I’ve let it languish there for a few days because it makes me smile. In fact, it almost made me wish I were good enough at something to have fans:
Substantially, the post is really the sweetest on this notable topic. I agree with your conclusions and will thirstily look forward to your forthcoming updates. Just saying thanks will not just be sufficient, for the fantasti c* clarity in your writing. I will right away grab your rss feed to stay abreast of any updates. Pleasant work and much success in your business efforts!
*[ironic sic]
p.s. it was in response to the snuggie haiku poetry. shiny!
I’m sure this has been done and done well by others, but I’m bored and procrastinating on two stacks of grading. Thus: reality television shows I would actually watch:
- Dancing with the Star Trek Wars: extra points to anyone who costumes up as Jabba; minus points for any Jar Jars; Data might have a bit of trouble really feeling the music, but I imagine he’d be able to process it.
- Survivor: ‘Real America’: Equipped with the latest Glenn Beck novel, contestants learn to survive using only personal freedom and family values.
- Iron Chevre: Contestants get to eat all the cheese they want. (I would so go on this show.)
- The Biggest Loose Woman (or Man): Oh wait, they already have this — it’s called “The Bachelor.”
- The Real Housewives of Remote Alaska: When your groceries get flown into you once a month or less, see what it takes to plan ahead and make do. And anyone who even mentions the erstwhile governor gets voted off the show and immediately deported to Russia.
- Extreme Makeover: Infant Edition: Is your child bald? Fat? Are her cankles too chubby or his head too melon-like? No worries — plastic surgeons are standing by to make your child into the shape you always dreamed of.
- Project Runaway: Fashion shows actually do something worthwhile and raise money for homeless teens.
- Are You Smarter than a PhD?: Seriously, let’s get some respect for people who devote a decade of their life to getting academically hazed. And all teacher-contestants automatically win a chili pepper on RateMyProfessor(dot)com.
- Big Brother: TRL: Unlike the no-privacy house where fabulously beautiful people do stupid things, this would just be normal people, all videos courtesy of governmental security cameras. The show will suck, but thankfully that doesn’t matter in reality television — the outrage will power huge ratings.
- Keeping Up with the Whoosiwhatsits: Stories about people who really don’t deserve to be famous. First guest: Balloon Boy!
Am celebrating final week in graduate school by alternating head from side to side in pointless attempt to level off sinus pressure. World’s Swiftest Cold set in yesterday evening; by midnight couldn’t sleep for aches, sniffles, pressure, etc. so took World’s Largest Dose of NyQuil and was out like a lightbulb an hour later. Mouth is all cottony now, though, and brain equally fuzzy. Hmm.
In other news, tomorrow is MY LAST TUESDAY IN PULLCOW and Thursday is MY LAST THURSDAY IN PULLCOW and holy tomatoes, people: THREE MORE DAYS AND I’M DONE WITH GRADUATE SCHOOL. Sure, I have to write a paper and grade a set of papers and enter grades after that, but no more commuting.
A rough estimate of the miles I’ve put on the poor Prius is 23,000 in the last two years, just commuting; a rough estimate of the gas money on said commute is around $2,000. Still, I made just enough money to pay the mortgage and my travel expenses every month. So while I wasn’t saving, I wasn’t taking us into debt, either.
And now…now I’ve got to find a job.
Am slogging through Donna Haraway’s cyborg manifesto, as well as her companion species and monsters pieces. Due to an incident with the library, I don’t have a book. Fortunately, Google books, the Interweb, and a Xerox machine will help me read through her stuff anyway. (And by “read” I mean skim, and wish I understood what the hell she’s talking about.)
Anyway, this entry is just to say: I am reading Haraway’s Cyborg Manifesto in a coffee shop in a college town whilst wearing a skirt, Tevas, and with braids in my (non-bangs-ed) hair. I have never felt so much like a graduate student. How fitting that the feeling should arrive when I’m only one for eight more days.
This may be the last post for awhile…or it may be the first of the most fantastic spree of procrastiblogging this world has ever seen. We shall see. My exam questions arrive in a couple hours, at which point I shall (a) freak out, and then (b) immediately go fetal. Who knows what’ll happen after that; if I disappear, I promise to send postcards from exotic but distant locales to let everyone know I’m still alive but for pete’s sake don’t come looking for me until the statute of limitations for my graduate program has elapsed.*
So, here are a few things that I feel compelled to note before I go into that dark, dark place:
Snowy
Yesterday I was pretty thankful we hadn’t taken off the studded tires on the Prius as I drove home IN AN EFFING BLIZZARD. Srsly. The road was so quiet in two inches of snow and it felt like I was driving through space with the white flakes whizzing past like stars. Had my hands not been clamped to the steering wheel, I would’ve taken a photo.
Phone
Um, my phone has stopped taking calls regularly. So I’m not ignoring calls as much as I’m just not getting them. This may or may not be a major problem next week when I’m in San Francisco.
Fuckwittage
I should probably make this clear: now is not the time to fuck with me. Jokes aren’t funny, I am not a good sport, and yeah, I’m going to be super selfish and bitchy** for the next seventy-five-ish hours. Ye be warned.
*this, of course, doesn’t really exist. But I imagine they’d be pretty pissed about me dropping out mid-final-semester.
**yeah, I know, so let me clarify: MORESO THAN USUAL
When it came time to sign up for presentations in my seminar this semester, I took care to choose one well after my portfolio, exam, and oral defense were finished. And then, in a fit of gallantry for my colleague who had everything due in a span of these two weeks, I offered to switch dates with her. So it is that I am presenting on a particularly impenetrable text tomorrow, and the only thing I can think to use as an example of democratizing technology is Cylons and BSG. That 4.0 gpa I was bragging about in my previous post…: Ah, Pride? Let me introduce you to my Fall.
In other but related news, today I broke into furious sobs after spilling some coffee grounds on the counter. At the time it seemed like such an apt metaphor for, like, life or control or messiness…something, y’know, all deep and shit.
For those of you considering graduate school, are you effing crazy? well, good luck.
10:30 to 10:50 Fetal position, again
10:51 More revision.
11:40 Paper has magically grown two pages
12:25 The Husband is home; I am suddenly aware of how much I must stink and need to shower
12:26 Still working on paper
1:20 Still working on paper, but in desperate need of deodorant and/or shower
2 p.m. Put finishing touches on brand-new conclusion and e-mail quick question to adviser
2:06 Headed to the shower
Paper still needs a solid proofread, but I think it’ll do. I’m pretty sure I’ve cleared up the major questions my adviser has. Also the middle cushion on this couch is now shaped like my ass. BECAUSE I HAVEN’T MOVED FOR SEVEN HOURS (aside from two brief forays into fetality and a few trips to purge my body of its caffeine overload)
And did I mention the sky, it is so blue today? So very beautifully blue.
4 a.m. Begin waking in twenty-minute increments until
6:20 a.m. The Husband gets up
6:22 Wow I really have to go the bathroom and I don’t want to walk all the way downstairs but I don’t want to go while The Husband is in the shower
6:32 So uncomfortable…
6:36 I wish I couldn’t hear the shower water through the wall…water, waterfalls, whitewater…
6:37 That is the longest shower EVER
6:38 Oh thank god he’s out
6:39 MUST HE SHAVE RIGHT NOW?
7 a.m. Okay, have my coffee, have laptop, even have paper open on said laptop
7:10 Read through paper, comments
7:11 Give up in despair
7:11 – 8:15 Fetal position
8:16 Facebook
8:22 New York Times. Finally caught up on Twitter article
8:45 Grudgingly begin working on paper
9:15 On a roll
10:00 Okay, I’m doing it: I’m putting a Calvin & Hobbes comic in the paper (in addition to the xkcd comic already in it [this one, though today's is pretty applicable as well])
10:20 Have run out of steam (and coffee and sugar)
10:21 Blog
see also No. twenty-five on my facebook list
First, government must fail because it works through a continuous problematisation of the domains in which it operates. It engages with social reality by representing it with intellectual instruments that show this reality only in the light of what it could be, under an optimal administration of its natural and human resources. Government thereby programs its own failure and it does so as a condition of its ongoing and truly remarkable inventiveness. …State schooling is not an instrument of a universal self-realising moral personality. It is an apparatus of social training that happens to have deployed the pastoral techniques of moral self-regulation as instruments of social discipline.
You asshole.
Edit: Wait, I have more!
Second, we have argued that the capacities of the self-reflective person are not themselves grounded in the principle of self-reflective personhood. These capacities we have traced to specific ethical disciplines and relationships whose ultimate provenance is the ‘shepherd–flock game’ of Christian pastoral guidance. It is only inside the specially instituted relations of moral problematisation and self-concern—of pastoral surveillance and self-examination—that individuals acquire the interest and moral ability to concern themselves with themselves and to carry out that ‘work of the self on the self’ that we know as the self-reflective person. As the improved adaptation of this pastoral pedagogy to the exigencies of government, the modern school system was not therefore taking over the principle of self-realisation as ‘prescribed by the eternal and immutable dictates of reason’. Instead, it was borrowing and adapting a definite and limited set of ethical disciplines and relationships, inside which the capacity for self-reflection was formed as a moral deportment.
Arse.
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