2005-02-10
The Confession
This was me standing in the kitchen this morning: transfixed and looking at the silent, velvet silk of water molecules that floated out of the coffee-maker. And I watched hit the stainless-steel surface of the microwave...and I sighed, and realized, that, I honestly didn't want to go to school today.
Everytime, before seeing Al...I become more...attractive--my face far more radiant, and I feel beautiful, and I feel happy...and alive. Like a woman. I suppose it showed on my face...perhaps? Because I was speaking to Mrs. Bryan and explaining to her that I have to be at the airport early tomorrow morning and will not be able to make it to her class and take "the gauntlet" a.k.a our multiple-choice/timed-writing. And we spoke briefly, and she asked me if I was understanding Hamlet. And I told her I understand the basics: theme, plot, symbols, &c. And then I made the confession: I dislike Shakespeare. He bores me to death (yeah, don't pretend you don't agree, you prick!). Fascinating? Well, it's like a soap-opera/epic/implicit porn manual right before my very eyes...his, "tenders?" Anyway, I told her my dirty little secret. Do I feel bad about this? Of course not--I told her the truth!
So I said, throwing my arms up in the air: "I'd rather do 'The Waste Land'!"
And her green-gray-brownish (?) eyes lit up and she smiled--because she was the one who was kind enough to make copies of an original, ploughed-through version for me--and told me that I'm basically off the hook: I no longer have to apply my formalist approach to the entire play of Hamlet because my heart and soul are not in it.
She's letting me do it on my favorite part of "The Waste Land": "Burial of the Dead". I feel energized...completely rejuvinated. The burgeoning literary critic inside me weeps with joy at this opportunity, and I will not fail, mon-capitan!
On another note, I phoned Al yesterday. His father, Jim, answered the phone and so...I started talking to his father (who, is much easier to talk to than his mother)...who, is a socialist. A socialist Quebecker (alright, Quebeckers!)...and, a very interesting man. I wondered if he noticed how capitalist I am...
And, yes...I'll get grilled by customs tomorrow, and hopefully by tomorrow night, be in Al's arms. Or, hear him snore while I edit parts of his book with a red pen. Why does that boy sleep so much?