There are a million things I ought to be doing right now, but I just ate another round of tofu dumplings. All I actually want to do is lie out under the spring breeze and let the miracle of the digestive system work its power.
I had my ‘meeting’ with Dr. Murphy today. I use quotes because it wasn’t really a meeting. More like an…interview? We sat outside one of the benches in front of classroom I, welcoming the sunshine and the outdoors. He pressed me for questions of my future plans, my current predicament, my position in the universal alignment. It was all very strange. He told anecdotes of his life, of writers’ lives; we discussed theoreticians--- I’d be remiss not to mention that it was a pleasant reprise from my typical interactions with adults and authority figures.
I thought he was going to chew me out for not working hard enough in his class. Or say that I didn’t reach the completely subjective, incomprehensible abstraction that is his standard. But he didn’t. He theorized my existence and came to the conclusion that I am an outsider in my own skin because of the contradictions and dynamics in my life. This, he contends, makes me a very interesting critic; though I shouldn’t let that pigeon-hole me theory wise. Oh, it makes me want to laugh. How can I ever become a writer when I can’t understand my identity? When no one can? Ha. Ha. Ha.
He said something rather epic, though. That my parents needed to show trust in the face of doubt---in me, that is. Because he said I was sharp and would succeed in living righteously while simultaneously making my parents proud. Eventually. That or have grandkids that they could fawn over.
We must have looked the odd couple sitting on that bench for an hour and a half or so. My face is roasted red from the unrelenting sun. But it was a good talk. It’s a nice feeling, I guess, having someone with the wisdom of years and experience believe in you enough to give you a mid-day pep talk
For a very brief moment chronicling this has made me feel less guilty. But the point has to be reached where the true intentions of a writer must be actualized. I want to share this with you, though I won’t have to strength to talk of it in person.
Maybe, if no one talks about it, it’ll just go away.
So, I guess I'm not talking about it. I'm negating its existence.