Ugh, anything but write my Policy of Arts & Culture homework. So this is why I’m writing to you. Don’t get me wrong—I love reading about how arts policy meshes with urban planning. We’re discussing the difficult side of the creative economy’s coin: gentrification and unequal access to employment. But as I mentioned before, my thoughts are random; they bubble from the depths in unpredictable ways. Now, for my Policy homework, I have to make it look like they came to me in rational, marching order, with a claim, a warrant, backing evidence, a rebuttal. I can’t do that to my brain! I mean, I can try, but at my age, I probably won’t get anywhere. Mostly, I’m learning the extent to which I’ve overestimated my ability to act half my age.
Just like that, on the equinox, we stepped through the portal. We left summer behind in the other room and it’s cool and drizzly. I didn’t think Big D had it in her. What a relief. As Angie would say, the heat, light, and energy level can be oppressive. The amount of stamina required of me was too intense. Now when the sun shines, it’s my friend. The sky is make-your-heart-sing blue. Riding my bike frees my amazon. I’m hanging out by the pool—the one with the infinity edge for a better view of the HVAC. The day takes a little time to rev up and wind down. Tibby likes it much better this way too. She’s once more a sweet wild swamp thing.
So let’s take stock of summer: a cracked phone, a broken camera, locked out of the apartment on moving day, and a sprained thumb. All trivial. Alrik’s still glamping with me. Our carpeted pre-fab is healing on some levels. We’re pretty deep in the park-like setting. I could get used to not smelling garbage juice. Nor do we hear cars, trucks, honking, or helicopters. No one is over the age of 37, including me (haha, just kidding… sigh).
I had an option on a birthday this month, but I passed. There comes a time when birthdays come around too damn often, like it’s another weekend or something, and you have to put a stop to it. I’m staying the same age for two years this time.
It’s too bad, because my cohort, we’re good at celebrating birthdays. We’re not particularly gifted, so we’re betting on our cuteness to get us through the program. We’ve celebrated all our teachers’ birthdays already. We have to keep it coming, thank goodness we have Xmas just after finals. And then next semester, we can do up the New Year’s thing to get to know our next bunch of profs. I’ll say this for my fellow students: they have the talent of getting their projects done so they can get on with their lives, unlike me. I belabor things. Not much has changed since grade school.