the old g

 This week things went more to shit, in relation to university studies, it really is fuckery on every fronts, not because of individuals (though some could be more sympathetic) but it's designed for people with disposable income and no dependents. My student partner flaked out this week and needed an extension, which is cool, but this was preceded by five days of radio silence, in which I sent messages without response (the one time I waited until 10am to tell them I had a sick child, was, however, treated as if I needed to sentence in the court of public opinion). Anyway, I said I was signing off tomorrow and going on holidays and they had one hour of my free time, and that's it. I need a break, it's not long enough, but I've booked into an overpriced airbnb (is there any other kind) and am going to try remembering what I used to do with myself, when being healthy, or in my own company. Read? Paint? Stretch out? I actually used to think I needed to do more or do postgraduate study or whatever, when I was in my late twenties, barely appreciately that I was fabulous as I was, and didn't need to channel personal validation into professional achievement. All that gear. 

Work Jess arranged to come out with my tomorrow night to the SALA thingo her friend Lou is helping at, they've been friends for ages, and now their kids are friends too and hang out together all weekend in the neighbourhood. She admired the bird watching zine that my youngest helped contribute to, and told me not to worry about my 'sharehouse squalour" aesthetic going down (the bathroom has visible black marks on the walls!), apparently her mother had a fridge that said "boring women have immaculate homes', given to her by a friend that studied feminism with her at Monash. Go people that study feminism. They do make more interesting parents-her mother was an English teacher, opposed to streaming, and it's nice to hear passionate educators put it into practice. 

The wellbeing coordinator at my son's school is an absolute gem, married to a speechie, wears designer tracksuit pants, has the voice, refers to 'unconditional regard', has interesting art posters hanging in the office, has in, the space of two terms, got the kids podcasting every week, making zines and calendars that are bankrolled by their cracticious coffee barista program, and my son has started a podcast that can only be recorded on Thursdays (the day they were avoiding school attendance). It was interesting to find his motivation, for basketball, and discover he can get dressed in under 60 seconds if he chooses. Basketball is funnily enough quite like AFL, and the process of getting the ball off the opposition and passing it to a team member, works. We went and bought a basketball that we need to take down to the local hoops, and bumped into his friend from footy, who later thought of the original idea of called him "Mr Basketball". Listening to young kids talk is funny, and they all had their club photos taken, my son specialised in the 'angry guy clutching football tightly with two hands'. There's a part of me that wants to soak this up, because I remember how much I liked seeing pictures of Aaron and Martin, in the primary school magazine, when they passed in their early twenties. Tragedy can happen randomly. Aaron had a dog called Mallee; Martin was the middle son of a beauty queen turned aged care physio. Quite intriguing. 

Also went to my eldest son's career counselling, fortunately the significant other realised I understood subject choices and grading up, grading down, and why year 11 is the time to get the academic attempts up, as you can't upgrade in year 12; we were booked in with his Maths teacher who is stereotypically good looking, like you could draw a line down the middle of his face and it's symmetrical, and he was wearing a stripey rugby jumper like he'd just finished his rowing eight practice and was feeling a little bit cold, but not too cold. Trying to evaluate how old he was, I looked at his very thick wedding band and concluded he was 30, kid free, which seemed accurate when he said his understanding of photography was 'wife in Europe telling me to point the camera'. Will this teacher be at the school in 12 months time or is he going to be snapped up by a preppie school, first to teach maths, then to be the middle school years leader, and once he becomes a parent, a teller of Dad stories, that are less about his kids and more about his marriage? I don't know. Anyway, we enrolled in the subjects he said are suitable for engineering and I enquired about his understanding of other subjects, interestingly he said that teaching changes in year 11, because all the other kids drop out and you only get left teaching smart kids, then he talked about how if no-one enrols in physics, the school doesn't offer it, as a hypothetical example of why you need to make 13 preferences, and I corrected him and said that if a core or prerequesite subject has low enrolments, it's still offered, which he agreed with and changed his anecdote to economics. I kept encouraging my son to enrol in subjects that might be fun, or use his strengths, or be well taught, but he insisted on putting down business innovation. Apparently, something like 3 in 4 university graduates have never studied a humanities subject in their degree. Shame.