Roger wants to use one of my essays as a piece for a workshop he's doing with older people. I gave him permission to use it, but I feel funny about it. I'd wondered why he was so solicitous on Saturday at Writer's Group, and now I know. It bothers me when I feel as if I'm being used, and I once thought Roger was someone who would never be guilty of that. And I'm sure he isn't aware of using me in any sense, but I didn't feel as though the essay was one he wanted to praise as an exemplary piece of writing. He did invite me to be there for the workshop, but I'm not really able to schedule any more meetings and things to do right now.
After all, I'm busy. Yesterday I finished reading a novel. This morning I watched a squirrel eating the helicopter seeds on my deck. Later today I plan to do some artwork. I may also work in a nice nap. Busy, yes. Reclaiming me. During the semester I feel as if I've run out of soul, as if there is no longer any "there" there. I stop being able to feel delight and surprise. Academia is inspiring in so many ways--it's the only profession I'd ever want--but it's also one that uses people in an impersonal machinelike way. No wonder academics turn into kooks. It's one of the ways we can be individual, idiosyncratic, but in a sanctioned way. There's a reason the absent-minded professor is a stereotype. Even the Evil Genius (usually some sort of scientific academic) is often someone who represents the educated.
But back to Roger. The essay he's asking to use is "My Left Leg" (about the blood clot that nearly killed me in December 1997). He figures the old folk are interested in medical stuff. That's a stereotype, too. I hope they get more than that out of it since what I'd hoped to portray was the sense of helplessness and anger I felt at the way I was treated.
Back to writing: I had to take a brief break to let the cat out of the spare bedroom, where he'd apparently been locked for over an hour. We keep the ironing board in there, and my husband always wants to re-iron the shirts he takes to the dry cleaner to be cleaned and pressed. He forgets that Simon likes to get in there and hide.
I've been sketching Simon lately. I'd love to do a portrait of him. He's the most loving cat I've ever owned. He'll be 11 years old next month. Lately when I pet him, he drools a little. That's something our ancient calico cat did when she got older. She lived to be 21, so I'm hoping Simon will have a long lifespan, too. We never let him outdoors, he eats only his prescription diet, and never has a cat gotten so much love and attention. So if love keeps us alive, he'll live forever. Sadly, love keeps us alive only in others' hearts and memories.
Only a totally unrelated note, we went to see Iron Man (is it two words, or one?) on Sunday night. It was good. I've long been a fan of Robert Downey, Jr., even with all his substance-abuse problems. However, the real shocker was how good Jeff Bridges was as the evil partner. Jeff Bridges can convey more emotion in a raised eyelid than some actors can with the words of Shakespeare at their disposal. What a face that man has! Of course, the movie itself doesn't bear a lot of scrutiny in terms of its logic, but the roles were well-played. Sadly, the digs at the people of the Middle East were so thinly disguised that it's no wonder some Arab groups are complaining.
The new Batman is inspiring the question "Do I really want to see Heath Ledger's final performance, or do I want to continue my obsession with the Batman franchise?" I love all the Batman movies, just as I used to love the comic books. But it's going to be really hard to look at Ledger as that horrific Joker. What a tragedy.
Speaking of tragedy (just go with the flow, folks--it's just my brain leap-frogging again), I am deeply worried about Sen. Ted Kennedy. I often tease my students by saying that I'm so liberal, I'm to the left of Ted Kennedy. I doubt that I really am, but certainly, I have admired the senator in many ways over the decades, just as I have equally disparaged him. He is the last of a type, a type we still need in Washington, someone who is willing to stand up to the neocons and express eloquently and forcefully how others (the non-rich, the un-privileged) feel. Alas, the Bushes have managed to turn eloquence into a sin. They've got conservatives believing that if a man can't say "shit" with a mouthful of it, then he's certainly the better presidential candidate. I am reminded of my sister, who graduated from high school (barely) at the bottom of her class. She distrusts educated people because she feels that their goal and desire is to trick and manipulate her. Just because words come out in a muddled and nonsensical fashion, that doesn't mean those words are truths. If there's one thing that I did not like about Shakespeare's play King Lear (one of my favorites), it was the portrayal of Cordelia as the least eloquent and therefore the most loving and devoted daughter. Faulty cause-and-effect. You'd think someone as eloquent and verbal as Shakespeare would have trusted eloquence a little more.
And on this unquestionably eloquent note (NOT), I've got artwork to do. S.
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