Visit 2 with the college consultant today, and a delightful homeward drive during which I had the pleasure of listening to Gabe outline which other middle-aged females I look older and wrinklier than (most, it turns out.) Jeff, checked out as per normal, had no helpful defense to add to the equation, so I simply had to bite my tongue so as not to inform the punk he’s doughy and lazy and I’m tired of raising him.
But that’s the point of these appointments...to find some setting in which he can--removed from my burned out decrepitude--mature and grow some life-enhancing strengths.
As for me, I am certain I am mature enough. Though the fates don’t appear to agree, and think that I need more practice in the areas of self-reliance, patience, and a zen-informed coolness with the prospect of a life devoid of success in creative ventures. And woohoo--I like a life that aims to hone. Whee.
Meanwhile, I am to that truly plodding stage in the book-creation process. The stage during which the initial zing of the concept has worn the rubber off its shoes, and you must scrape brain dregs for the next sentence, hoping it will be magically infused with a whiff of inspiration which must come from someplace to which you personally have no access. Clarence, you there? Have some coffee if it will help.
Then, eventually, there will come a point where (I hope) I can say...this ball, it’s a’rollin’!, and from there the process feels a darn sight less forced.
Actually, the nicest thing about Clarence is, he’s completely neutral on the subject of how old I look.
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