Anatot

This is my second day in Anatot. Back for the first time since May of 1994, when I told all my friends that I was going with my family on a "vacation" back to America. I should have known that, being we were so broke, it was not going to be a vacation.

So yesterday, 16 years later, I have returned.

Out caravan is no longer there, but the cement blocks on which it once sat still remain. Like the ruins of an ancient Roman Temple. The neighboring caravan that Dad used to work in is still here. Vacant. Yossi joked that the offices would not allow anyone else to live in it, figuring it was cursed. People were apparently very sad we left. Perhaps it is becomes it reflects badly on them, that they did not do enough to help us, to make sure Israel welcomed back their prodigal children of the diaspora. Then again, there is too the fact that these people were quite fond of us. That they loved us, accepted us for who we were - people like themsleves and their parents who came to this land to build better lives.

I realized these last few days, after coming here and speaking with some of our old friends, that the latter was very much the case. We were not the only family to leave. Maybe not the first and certainly not the last, but we were one of the most memorable...

Full Circle Pomegranates

Desperate times used to call for desperate measures, but chances are that will only perpetuate desperation.

Back when I was an unemployed, freshly dry junkie - I worked many, if not most, of the bottom of the barrel jobs offered to the desolate of the Twin Cities. Most interesting, was probably my 3 month stint as a Kirby Vaccuum salesman.

Aweful, exhausting, soul-wrenching work this was, bullshitting people into spending way too much money on a vaccuum.

Very shortly, it became that job where everyday was supposed to be my last.

I used to say, "This is it! After today I'm quitting. I don't care if I get evicted; I'm moving back to Israel to work on a pomegranate farm!"

Of course I ended up settling for a job as an interior apartment painter instead. A week later once my driver's liscense was revoked and I was fired.

I will not go into the details of my relapse into darkness, jail, despondency, self pity, rehabilitation, surrender, humility, and rebirth. Just know that eventually I got my shit together.

So here now, a handful of years later, I find myself standing on the front porch of Eytan Urieli's moshav home -- staring out over the acres of pomegranate groves which stretch halfway across the horizon.

Departure

It almost didn't happen.

When I got to the airport (MSP) and tried to check in, the Delta people said they wouldn't let me board! They said that since my ticket was for longer than 3 months I needed a Visa, and unless I bought a return ticket, I was shit outta luck. So it set me back about an hour and half. Calling my program director in Israel, talking to various Delta vile, most of whom just wanted me to go away.

Needless to say, I was fuming!

Thank God that Wahida was with me to help me keep calm, otherwise you might be bailing me out of Homeland Security for disturbing the peace. It took all my strength not to scream and cry and curse and throw shit. Eventually I found a lady who was willing to actually listen and help.

I told her that my program was sponsored through MASA, the Jewish Agency and affiliated with the Israeli Government. I told her that I could have my program director fax them info about my program, visa, ect. (I told the first 3 people I spoke with the same thing and they said they didn't care, it wasn't their business) But this last woman was very nice and went and got me the fax number and spoke with her supervisors. Once the fax came through, they checked me in and let me through.

I think all that hoopla must have roused suspicion because security "randomly" searched my bag TWICE. Once during security screeening and again before I boarded for JFK. I didn't mind though, I was just happy to be getting aboard.

First flight actually stopped in Detroit for an hour, it was a short and pleasant flight. Sat next to a girl who was one her way to China with a bunch of classmates from MCTC. Then on the flight to NYC, the seat next to me was EMPTY, which was really nice.

If the fact that I was coming to Israel had yet to sink in, it certainly did so when I got to JFK Gate 14.

Back on Track

What a long a long strange trip its been, and it’s only just begun.

This blog is about to undergo a metamorphosis.

Today is May of 2010. Two years since I first babbled about my anxsty neurosis, and a year since I invented a new word. Luckily, no one else did and I was able to submit the word “procrastipation” to urbandictionary.com

In 17 days I’m going to get on a plane.

I will be returning to a place about 7,000 miles away.

A place I haven’t been since I was 9 years old.

That’s 16 years and 22 days.

17 days!? Holy shit, I have so much yet to do. <-- is my initial thought.

but really - packing, getting my crap in order, isn’t that big of deal. Bottom line is, its time to go back. It’s time to leave.

No more whining away with drugs.

No more pouting about feeling sorry for my self.

No more anguishing guilt,

No more looking back. No more fantasizing about how it should have been. Now, is the time to do what will be.

What that is, in the grand scheme of things, I have no idea. But I know that I’m fine with that.

The journey is the experienced by living in the moment. Trust the moments, and we can trust the futures. We don’t have much of a choice, really - not if we strive for any sorts of satisfaction,

contentment,

excitement,

adventure.

I will be out of place, but perhaps I’ll be lucky for that.

Since my lasts posts I’ve lost my job, my apartment, but have so much more of myself, and I just know there’s so much more to come. Glad to be back world!

Israel, I'm coming home.

Procrastipation

The Art of Not Getting Shit Done

What to do when you're cornered by obligation?  Surrounded by projects, assignments, responsibilities, and pressing chores, it would seems that productivity is imminent.  

Will my homework finally get done?  Perhaps my dishes or laundry?  Maybe I need to leave my apartment, get some groceries for the week?

No, probably better I update my abandoned blog.  So here I am.

Not quite as neurotic as last post.  That's how is goes.  Neurosis, it goes in and out.  Like anything else.

Working full-time, going to college, its quite the grind.  

 

Neurosis

Its about time. What a waste. Too much TV. Too much waste of everything. Time ticks ticks and tocs moment by moment, yet I find myself inscesantly doing I can to dilute life. Indeed I have become a whiney little bitch lately. To "be still" and see the real me _ well, if that's who I am, if that is what I do - then yes. I have become something rather reprehensible... atleast by my standards. Or should I say the standards I once thought I had. There was a time (beleive there was a time) when I had a clear vision. I had a prize, I was able to keep my eye on it till I got it. What happened?
Was it impatience?
Anger?
Frusteration?
Ego?
Bullshit. Its everything and nothing. Fuckin aye, I can't even make a clear point. I gotta quit smoking the shit. I gotta quit drinking. I have to do something productive in between sleeping, jerking off, and shitting.
Work.
TV.
Food.
Pot.
Drink.
Sex.
Day dream and fantasy.
Who we imagine ourselves as is not who we are. It may be who we have potential to be, but it certainly isn't who we are. Who we are can often creep up on us. Not always so pleasant.
Mopping.
Sulking.
Whining.
Pity parties.
FEAR.
Lot's of things to fear.
Disease.
Mental illness.
Humiliation.
Failure.
Prison.
Hell.
What a mess, sigh_______.