Adieu

Teller was not so much bereft as he was stunned; although, he admitted, this was accompanied by a healthy dose of relief. He was aware that he should be grieving, as would be normal under such circumstances. Perhaps the immense sense of fatigue that he was feeling, down to the core of his being, was a symptom of his sadness.

The relationship that he had been involved in for five years was now officially over. Given that he had invested so much of his life in this one person, it qualified as one of the major liaisons of his life. But now, it was, finally: kaput.

Not that this should be a big surprise. In fact, anyone with a lick of sense would have predicted this outcome for a coupling with such a turbulent and chaotic dynamic. The on-again/off-again nature had been truly maddening. 

Teller and Gwendolyn had met online and had their first date on her 65th birthday in 2019. He was 71 at the time and hoping to meet his last love. However, despite their mutual attraction, from very early on differences over fundamental values were evident.

Consequently, there were oh many instances of painful conflict along the way. And it did not end well, with Gwen sending a final, distancing text: “… and please do not contact me again.”

Yes, Teller was stunned. And yet, bound to honor Gwendolyn’s wish.

Adieu: perhaps to his last love.

Soundtrack Suggestion

And I know it’s long gone
and that magic’s not here no more
And I might be okay
but I'm not fine at all

(“All Too Well” - Taylor Swift)

Batshit Crazy

Before being nudged, not-so-gently, into retirement, Dr. Teller had spent the last ten years of his academic career as a community-college dean. The final position lasted for seven, interminably-long and difficult years at a junior college in California’s Bay Area.

Teller had come to believe that the life of an academic dean was: Just. Plain. Fucking. Nuts. The most frequent question that coursed through his brain was “why am I here?” Surely this wasn’t an existence that any truly healthy person would take on – other than from a sense of desperation.

The fact was, though: Teller had been desperate. The offer that ultimately came his way emerged after three-plus years of interim positions and a lifestyle of never-ending job-search. When he lost his state-level higher-education post in Oregon, he had been forced to seek out something else to do with his life. When the opportunity arose to be a college dean, he thought, “why not?” And after two temporary gigs in his home state, the California job seemed to provide him some sense of direction, resolution and permanency.

But while he was quite experienced with, and even amazingly skillful at, managing the highly-political nature of academia, the navigation of community-college campus-level politics turned out to be somewhat akin to living in the “Twilight Zone.” It was as if Rod Serling had come back to provide the script and narration for Teller’s time on this planet.

Of the 112 community colleges in the California community-college system, Teller ended up working at one of the smaller ones. And as it turned out, it had a quite-specific statewide reputation. Not that he knew anything about that when he moved there, of course.

But the reputation was discoverable and, in the end, indisputable: the place was batshit crazy.

To wit:

• The collective-bargaining agreement between the faculty and the institution was an absurdly-long and complicated document. It was poorly-written, internally-contradictory, maddeningly-prescriptive, and reflected decades worth of administrative concessions. It served as the college’s Bible. It was, indisputably, batshit crazy.

• The Board of Trustees was a self-absorbed, totally-dysfunctional body, prone to micromanagement, lack of boundaries, role confusion, internal strife, senseless speech-making, and meetings that lasted until midnight. Individually, and collectively, they were the very essence of batshit crazy.

• The collection of department chairs, a gang that convened monthly, consistently and vigorously attacked anyone unlucky enough to have the title of vice president. They truly believed that the world revolved around them. The group was distinguished by its inability to move any agenda along and famous for its failure to acknowledge (what the rest of the world might call) “reality.” Individually, and collectively, an easy call: batshit crazy.

• Overt and covert conflicts between faculty members and administrators were frequent, mean-spirited, and embarrassing for any innocent bystander to witness. The dynamic was full-on batshit crazy.

• The door to the vice president’s office was a revolving one, hosting seven different occupants during Teller’s time there. Some were laughably inept. At least two were verbally and/or emotionally abusive. One was middle-twentieth-century sexist. One was certifiably batshit crazy.

• Stories of bad behavior by faculty members were legendary, provided a mystical aura to the institution, and wove the fabric of the college’s culture. The campus employed several who had been there for decades and had long ago given up pretending to care about students. Teller believed that a certain percentage of them had substance-abuse or mental-health issues, and assessed this faction to be, unquestionably, batshit crazy.

Still, despite all the evidence in support of its reputation, Teller had not planned on leaving the college when he did. His departure, ultimately, came as a big surprise to him. The interim vice president, who had once been among Teller’s most-trusted allies on campus, had apparently drunk the Kool-Aid too many times. Acting as an agent of the president, she was the one who informed Teller that his time on campus was over.

He was devastated by the betrayal.

When all was said and done, Teller probably should have seen it coming. But he didn’t.

The evidence is there to support the notion that Dr. Teller, himself, had gone native.

In other words: batshit crazy.

Soundtrack Suggestion

Now and then I think of all the times you screwed me over
But had me believing it was always something that I’d done
And I don’t wanna live that way
Reading into every word you say
You said that you could let it go
And I wouldn’t catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know…

[“Somebody That I Used To Know” – Gotye]

existential, adj.

Teller got home from work about 5:00 on Friday. He put down his stuff by the front door, sighed heavily, plopped onto a chair in the bedroom…

…and immediately starting weeping.

His body was achy all over and he was bone-tired. Although it had been a mostly-manageable week, given that it was spring break and campus was very quiet, fatigue and depression seemed to permeate every cell of his being.

Teller had taken two vacation days during the week, though, and for a little while there, he felt almost human. On Wednesday, he spent some time in the morning at his favorite Starbucks reading a dissertation proposal in preparation for an upcoming conference-call committee meeting. While immersed in this academic pursuit, he felt as relaxed as he had for a long time, perhaps several months. Alas, the feeling disappeared when he packed up and moved on to other activities. Even when he went to a movie during that same afternoon, he realized his free-floating anxiety was back and that he was not breathing well, his gut all tightened-up.

On Thursday, his anxiety took a break again for a couple of hours while engaged in a FaceTime conversation with one of his favorite people in the world: the Ph.D. student from Portlandia whose committee meeting was imminent. But, then, it was back to the feeling of off-centeredness, tense body, and problematic bladder.

Friday morning, Teller went back to work, wondering how can this possibly be my life?

Teller Territory

Teller was married once, in his twenties, for ten years. Since then, he has had two other, more-significant couplings; he counts both Leigh and Katrina among his “great loves.” While other, shorter-term relationships have come and gone, the losses of these three have affected Teller the most profoundly.

Teller genuinely likes women. Even when they aren’t his lovers, members of the female gender comprise most of the individuals he counts as friends. Women of all kinds, shapes, sizes, interests and orientations seem to be attracted to Teller for one reason or another. He suspects that women can get from him what they find generally lacking in other males: the ability to really listen, understand and be present. Despite this, though, one of his women friends, at one point in his life, informed Teller that it was her opinion it was these very qualities that eventually kept women away. “Women always say that they want their significant other to express feelings and really be present, but when it comes the time that they actually find somebody like that, they don’t know how to handle it. Teller, you can be so present it’s scary. Yes, I think that’s why you’re alone,” she said. “You don’t fit into any model of any man they’ve known before.”

So, here Teller is, now in his sixties, still trying to understand his life. He’s trying to figure women out, and find an explanation for why he’s neither in a relationship nor been able to sustain one.

Right now he’s thinking about Mona. Mona lives in another part of the state, but was visiting Teller Territory a couple of years ago, around Thanksgiving (November 2008), to celebrate the holiday with her parents. Teller and Mona happened to find themselves at neighboring tables in a local Starbucks one afternoon, and they struck up a conversation. Mona initiated with a comment about Teller’s laptop computer, but it ended up to be an intense, three-hour dialog about various, intimate aspects of each of their lives. They ultimately exchanged contact information but, then, Mona drove home the next day. While Teller did follow up with an email, there was no response from her, other than a belated reply to remind Teller that she was very busy, living with someone else, and was a long way away (with no chance of ever living in Teller Territory).

However, Teller has had, just recently, further contact with Mona. She is no longer in relationship, and was again visiting her parents in Teller Territory last week. She was the one who initiated contact, and they ended up spending about 12 hours together (in person and on the phone), over the course of two days, engaged in deep conversation about their lives.

Now, she’s gone again: off to lead her solitary life. In Mona Territory.

Madison Flashbacks

This weekend, as the streets of Madison, Wisconsin, are filled with protestors, signs and boisterous chanting (aimed at a lunatic Governor who took office less than two months ago), Teller is reminded of another time of civil unrest there: the Vietnam War era. The University of Wisconsin-Madison, in the 1960s, was affectionately called “The Berkeley of the Midwest,” due to its reputation as a center for anti-war activism. Teller lived in northern Wisconsin at the time, attended college at one of the state’s regional four-year institutions, and participated in the milder and more-modest protests on his home campus.

In a weird sort of way, Teller remembers the Sixties as the worst of times and the best of times. It was the worst because there was the constant threat of the draft -- and the probability of severe injury or death while fighting in an illegal and unjust war. It was the best because there was never a dull moment. The country was hyper-alive, on the edge of revolution, and campuses were where the action was.

No, there really wasn’t anything quite like being a college student in the Sixties.

From 1965 to 1969, Teller was a full-time undergraduate, maintaining his 2-S draft-deferment status and, hence, his ability to keep himself out of uniform and harm’s way. However, that wouldn’t last forever. In late May of 1969, Teller had just finished his fourth year of studies, twelve semester-credits short of graduating.  By that time, the drum beating of the Selective Service System had been pounding in his ears for months: all anyone got before they had to relinquish their 2-S status was four years of college attendance, no matter the outcome.

Early in1969, Teller had been summoned for his draft physical, traveling to Minneapolis to undergo the experience of being marched, with hundreds of others, cattle-like, through the examination process. Despite the medical file that Teller had generated, and continually updated, at his local draft board, he passed his physical. Before the semester ended, he had received his 1-A classification card. And three weeks to the day after his last final exam, June 18, 1969, his draft notice appeared in his mailbox.

“Greetings,” it said.

Isn’t it interesting what memories can be brought back, right here in 2011, by these stirring images from Madison on the TV news?