As we speak

I have to make a serious confession.

I have to relinquish my son and my husband from my life.

It was nice to be expunged from Harvard and every affiliate for a few days but I don’t think that that is actually the case. I was tossing mail today and a lot of it was from Harvard or Radcliffe. Also a glut of The New Yorker which is sort of similar.

But that leads me to what I have to say.

In Florida, I got a subsription to Philosophy Today (I think that was what it was called.) Someone who I didn’t want to disappoint came to the door selling subscriptions so I ordered that and I had a whole lot of stuff coming in the mail other than that, and I read some things that were brief and to the point and scanned other stuff but for one thing, I almost NEVER read Philosophy today. Even though I renewed the subscription. Occasionally I read and depended upon one article, such as one on childrearing and families; and I read some of the poetry. Also, the Southern Poverty Law Center. I donated money to them but their literature was too radical and I got afraid. So I canceled. I had shelves full of books that I had never read. Or, I bought them because I had read them when I was young and wanted them on my shelves. Like, le Mort d’Arth by Sir Thomas Malory, Robert Graves The Greek Myths, and other classics. and some books I purchased thinking that I should read them and then never did. I threw out 50 lbs worth of paperbacks. I don’t even remember what they were.

My writing and reading had become so lacklustre in the Florida heat–not my climate. And the overdose had almost killed me and the tasering had also almost killed me and these things took me out of the style of writing to which I had been accustomed. And, yes, a possible divorce had been in the works for years.

I guess I have finally learned that you don’t control your life so that you can write the sort of books you like to read. You write books about the kind of life you live. Or want to life, based on the kind of life you do live.

And, anyway, I don’t try to write books any more, or old-style short stories. My mind AND life are not longer well-organized enough. I am a blogger–the semi-stream-of consciousness is the only thing that works for me.

Brevity is the soul of wit!