High Holy Days Hodge-podge: Day 6

[Note: In honor of Saturday, I've taken a sabbatical and rested from blogging on Day 5.]

"Because you have listened to the voice of your wife, and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you, 'You shall not eat of it,' cursed is the ground because of you; in toil you shall eat of it all the days of your life; thorns and thistles it shall bring forth to you; and you shall eat the plants of the field. In the sweat of your face you shall eat bread till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return." Genesis 3:17-19

Before journeying any further on the jaunt that will be this entry, allow me to make (not one, but) several disclaimers. (1) I enjoy my job: there are few careers paths that I can imagine in which I would take more delight. (2) I am not complaning in this entry: the following sentiments in no way express discontent, ungratefulness, or any other manifestation of dissatisfaction with my line of work, or my life more broadly. (3) No students were harmed in the typing of this blog entry (at least not yet, anyway...)

On paper (read: the punch-card that my maniacally controlling, won't-pay-you-for-a-single-minute-more-than-you-worked employer a.k.a. Satan makes me use), I teach about 30 hours of class per week. In reality (read: according to the meticulous, and infallable yet overworked-and-ever-more-weary chronograph that is my mind), I average something closer to 45-50 hours. Wherein lies the discepancy? The minutes and hours I slave away grading essays, creating quizzes, preparing and reviewing lesson plans, and doing a variety of other tasks as a faithful clog in the lucrative, well-oiled machine that is the modern test-prep industry.

But I'm tired at the end of the week. Which brings me to another point: there is no end to my work week--it's just one unbroken cycle with a beginning, but strangely--and sadly--without end. Yes, I'm on the job seven days a week. On Saturdays I teach from 9-5, then go home and prepare for SAT II Biology class the next day. On Sunday after church, I zoom over to Roland Heights, teach till 5, then go home and ready myself for the classes in the week to come.

I enjoy teaching, especially my verbal and writing classes. It's exciting, engaging, educational (both for my students and for me), entertaining, but also enervating. [I know, a tour de force of alliteration. Surprisingly, it came very naturally.] I don't know how people who hate their jobs do it. I mean, unless they're completely mercenary and being paid like Halliburton on a government contract (complete with extravagent junkets, a company jet, a time share in each time zone, and primo stock options), it's just not worth it.

I allowed the meticulous, and infallable yet overworked-and-ever-more-weary chronograph that is my mind to deliberate on this point, and it faithfully delivered to me an answer: the curse. Adam's curse. My curse. Though I enjoy my job, as a post-lapsarian man, I am destined to toil, and work by the sweat of my brow--even in our first world, post-industrial, technology-based, increasingly globalized economy of scale. Sure, America left behind the husbandry of Adam's agrarian world over a century ago, but here I am in a service-sector job of a service-based economy toiling with 21st century thorns and thistles.

I called Pam to relay this (rather depressing) epiphany. Her consoling conclusion: "Yes, you're a man. You're destined to labor and toil all the days of your life, until you die."

Surprise Jew of the Day: David Beckham
Not-so-surprising Jew of the Day: Jesus