Skip to main content

The Age of Multitasking

I had to Google the word "multitasking" to double check whether it was hyphenated. At this moment I have six windows open. I will inevitably flip back to another tab to check something. I just got a text message from Sarah. Of course I will check it.




A few months ago my Tio came over to help D and I with moving some things. He came in sat and started to talk to me. D sat on the other couch trying to finish some work on his Ipad. My laptop say on the coffee table. We were both facing out screens.


       "So mija how is everything?" Tio asked.
 
       "Good, Tio. Hang on. I just need to post this." I said without looking up at him.


       "Man, all you guys do is stare at those screens. Why don't you put them down," he said reaching for my laptop.


       Tio was demanding my attention. My work was demanding my attention. The T.V. was on in the background.


       "Tio, just give me a minute," I snapped. "I just need to finish this."




I rushed. I posted. Three hours later I saw my typo because Tio was rushing me. He still doesn't understand that both D and I work from home much of the time. He has always had a job with shifts. Tio does not own a computer or a smart phone. He doesn't trust technology. I can't work 8-5, Tio. I tell him. I teach at different hours. I write at different hours. I... He shakes his head. Tio does not understand.




I am an adjunct professor at a community college.
I am a tutor for athletes at a large university.
I am a writer.
I am the Executive Director of local nonprofit BorderSenses.
I am an Upward Bound instructor
I am a writer.
I am a writer.


Although I think of that day with Tio often when D and I are each working across from each other on our respective couches and music and/or the T.V. buzzes in the background at 8pm at night. I know that there is not enough time in the day for us to do EVERYTHING that we need to do. I must answer emails. I must grade. I must write. I must answer emails. I must write a grant. I must write. In age where I can answer emails while waiting for the elevator I will take that moment even if research shows my productivity decreases the more tasks I add. I want to use that minute. I want to use all minutes as effectively as possible. I want...


I walked to my tutoring gig today and thought of a time before smartphoneconstantsommunitcationconnectioncomputer era and felt nostalgic and grateful at the same time. In our effort to be efficient we've lost and gained.


       "Man, all you guys do is stare at those screens."


Yes, we do. It is an effort to put them down. Many don't even make that effort. But I have my Tio's voice to remind me where many others don't. Some might laugh but D and I make a conscious effort to keep weekends, at least Sunday's sacred. We spend the day with each other and or alone/together. He reads in the hammock in our crab grass backyard and I sleep in. I wake up yawn and cook breakfast. The house smells like pancakes. I read in the living room. The house silent. The house silent.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

¿Y la Prieta?

My grandma, Ita, called me Prieta. She called me this because my skin is toasted brown. When I was born my mom says I was light skinned, but she knew “que iba ser morena” because the inside of my little baby thighs were already darker than the rest of me. In the sun, I turn a darker brown. I get even more Prieta. It was a term of endearment. My sister, who has a light complexion, was called guera or guerinchi. When I tell people who don’t speak Spanish what Prieta means, dark or the dark one, their eyes open wide and a small gasp escapes. I see the offense they feel for me sprinkled on their faces like the freckles I will never have. When I try to explain, the offense still shadows their eyes. That is the problem with Spanish. Wait, maybe, that is their problem with Spanish. Even when I explain, they are suspicious. Their faces ask, “Is this true?” as if I am setting them up for a joke. But how can I explain the cultural and literal meaning of a word at the same time?

Los Dichos

No hay mal que por bien no venga. Tanto quiere el diablo a su hijo que hasta un ojo le quiere sacar. Mejor sola que mal acompa ñ ada. Tanto pedo para cagar aguado. Lo barato sale caro. Más seguro más amarrado. Para buen entendido muy pocas palabras. Para cada roto un descocido. Hijo pepe mariquita! Para pendeja no se estudia. Limosnero con garrote. Soy como Orozco, cuando como no conozco. La zorra nunca ve su cola ni el zorrillo su fundillo. El muerto y el arrimado al los tres días huelen. Amores de lejos, amores de pendejos. Estaba haciendo chili con la cola. Me  da diarrea con gusanos. Enfermo que come y mea, y el diablo que se le crea. La esperanza es la última que muere. El flojo trabaja doble. De noche todos los gatos son pardos. Una cosa es Juan Domínguez y otra cosa es no la chingues. Es de Don Cuco, entra la bola no se supo. Primero me besa un ciego. Dime con quién andas y te diré quien eres. No porque te levantas más temprano

Stream of Conscious Wednesday

At Village Inn, my favorite writing place. This one, is my favorite in the city. Bright orange booths with light fixtures out of Rock Hudson's Pillow Talk, and witty quotes on the wall like, "Never trust a skinny chef."  The cloudy skies stream in through tinted windows and continue to draw me away, seduce me into daydreaming about all the things I should be writing and trips I should be taking and money I need to be saving. So I can go high and low and down below the country's line I have never crossed before.  Then I look back to the screen and I think, Ita, Ita, what do I write about Ita. My thesis, a memoir, and Yeah, my stories are that interesting. There are many, but I need pictures, I need something, because right now they are floating, tiny little words on paper bouncing around outside the atmosphere of my brain.  Oh, there's an art show soon. I should go. It's starting to rain and it makes me think of dancing. Dancing Donna Summer style wi