This past week, I had a moment–a joyous, Oh-Mah-Gawd moment–that I’ve never experienced before. Someone actually handed me money for a writing project I had done for them. I wanted to cry. I may have cried, just a little. A couple of years ago, I did some resume and letter work for someone. It was for a friend, and I wasn’t going to charge her. She needed a job. We worked on it a few times over several weeks because she was applying for several different jobs. On her last visit, she presented me with this:
Tag Archives: celebration
True Love
I swore I wouldn’t, but I did. I read the blog, curious as to see what he would write after our little tete-a-tete.
It was pretty much as I expected, but I was surprised at how much it stung, anyway, all things considered. And I had this big “thing” built up in my head about how I was right, and he was wrong, and I could prove it…blah, blah, blah…
…and as I was walking this morning, I realized that it didn’t matter. It just didn’t matter. Nothing I could say would ever change his opinion of me, or change the condition of the cats, or do anything productive whatsoever, and then the most wonderful thing happened. I let go because I realized that it just didn’t matter.
Moments
I haven’t had the moment yet, the moment which happens every semester and typically lasts between an hour and a whole night, culminating in my gnashing my teeth and renting my garments, crying “I can’t do this” until I pass out, exhausted, only to wake up the next morning (or afternoon) and get stuff done.
I’m really not quite certain what to think about that.
I’m down to one paper and one final. The paper isn’t going to be an easy one, slap down some criticism, top it with a bit of flowery interpretation on it, stir in a couple of sources in it and throw it on the table. This is a “what the hell was I thinking? what the hell AM I thinking?” sort of thing, is postmodernism honest? dishonest? what is it anyway?
So, yeah, there I am. Moment-less and confused.
But it’s okay. It’s almost over, and margaritaville calls me.
Wednesday. At 4:30. I’ll be there, stuffing lost shakers of salt in my pockets and singing God-knows-what.
I’ll be having a moment.
Lyrical Fool 