It’s an in-between time. My friends are all stuck between work and holidays. I’m working on my book, but not editing anything that I’m getting paid for. I am gearing up for our annual Indian buffet bash. Direct quote from an email RSVPing said bash “I’m bringing enough chocolate in the chocolate fountain to keep [friend redacted] up until 1 am.” There is citrus pickle fermenting by the wood stove. [Friend redacted] might just dip the pickle in the chocolate fountain.
Cuz that’s how we roll.
I’m powering through my father’s papers. I understand so much more of them than I did two years ago. And they are still cluttering up my office. Academia is weird. There is a note from one of my father’s students saying that it was clear to the student that my father didn’t want him to get a job, that my father’s criticism of his work merely “weakened his position.”
My father was the kind of person who either told you to your face what was wrong or he was enthusiastic about what you did. I don’t believe he was any other way. Subtlety was not one of his traits. And yet, what if I don’t remember it correctly. (I think I do, but let’s say for the sake of argument that I don’t.) One mythologizes people one hasn’t seen in 13 years. You just can’t help it. And I was in my early twenties when he died. What didn’t I know about him?
How complicated are you?