I find it a difficult to write to you during the work week. Somehow, after a busy day, I don’t feel that my writing is particularly mindful, and I am drained. My entries, which I draft off-line, seem harsh and unlike me, a “let’s just get it over with and put me out of my misery” kind of writing, like I’m taking a dose of bitter medicine. I need a teaspoon of sugar. Ooops, make that an IV....
Several times I started writing you. For example, on Monday I drafted Today I decide to do the unexpected: following through on my one new thing each day, I become the owner of a book with a pulp-fiction jacket, a buxom woman in red, and the title, “Are Men Necessary.” Yes, it’s true. I decided to challenge my assumptions of a few days ago, dismount from my high horse, and surprise my high falutin’ self. I was flipping through the opening pages at the bookstore, and I saw a reference to Thurber’s satire, “Is Sex Necessary.” And I saw that I didn’t see it, I missed the step, I fell off the dock and was gurgling for air.
I never quite finished that letter.
But today, speaking of Maureen, I wondered if you've visited the blog Wonkette, or heard of Ana Marie Cox, or her new novel, Dog Days? Because today I read that, according to the New York Times’ reviewer Christopher Buckley, she’s more self aware than Maureen Dowd, and he likes Maureen. Per NYT’s David Carr, the Wonkette “traffics in tips and rumors about all the Senate aides quaking in their cubes.” (Also he says she’s Katherine Hepburn with a severe case of potty mouth, but that’s an aside.) What do you traffic in?
I want my writing to traffic in emotional truth. What’s it like when a friend commits suicide? What’s it like when your son is deployed to Iraq (I say hurrah to Cindy Sheehan)? Your husband says, you’ve been a wonderful wife and mother, I’m having an affair with a colleague? Your boyfriend says, oooops, slight problem, didn’t want to distract you, I’m actually married? Your friend of over 20 years says, had cramps, went to doctor, diagnosis ovarian cancer? And that's just the tip of our communal iceberg. Ghandi said my life is my message. What is my message?
Come to think of it, it would be easier to write about Bushworld, but I’ve lost the desire to read Maureen. I’m gonna send Are Men Necessary to a friend whom I think will enjoy it, and ask for a full book report. Maybe I’ll try Thurber’s Is Sex Necessary, instead. I hear it’s fun to walk around with it, title showing, of course. So it’s a full circle week: I got the book, I got rid of the book.
Tonight I have company and we’re doing quesadillas and Coronas, and tomorrow I’ll be trying a new recipe for Italian vegetable stuffed steak and pasta. I think a good merlot is in order. Come on over. I've got plenty of grub.
Until we meet again,
PS McFawn, I love your questions about time and space. Yes, it's a new definition, for me anyway. I hope to elaborate on it at some future point. Thanks for calling me on being evasive...I hate sloppy thinking, and it's so easy to do.