Thats what i feel like.
Nobody liked my post about masturbation. Its an unpleasant subject but its a huge chunk of ny history.
A different subject, equally insidious, is the fraudulence of my pos ftture as a “Hutton” (not its real name) literary grad. I dont have even the most rudimentary grasp of English or American literature. I was not serious about being a lit major in college and relied largefy on my high school knowledge of the subject; and that was where the problem with my education lay in the first place. I did not understand, in high school, the idea of writing about what you are reading. Those two things are not necessarily connected. I was an avid reader, also i was so insanely tied up with books rhat i had a compelling grasp if the language itself. But i didnt see the point of writing about what i read. I had an iffy intention if “beconing a writer.” And rhere was a creative writing option in the Englush department. Too bad i didnt take it. That would have been grace for me.
I created a brilliant computer program that generated essays on poetry and it earned me my one real job, actually it was a fairy tale job in Oxton Square, my college town (not its real name); i was assisting with mathematical modeling of commodity futurs markets for a chemistry professor from another nearby college. This steady income in a professional job for about 10 months, in turn would earn me Social Security Disability Income, SSDI, which has sustained me through my whoke life long. Its not enough to live on, but it made a real difference in the uncertain financial times when my ex and i first set out.
In high school, because my father was a British intellectual, i had a tone that impressed ny teachers and my peers, and while there were those who werent afraud to correct me, there were others who knew that there was a problem and let it go and “passed” me just for being bright. I wasnt learning anything. And everyone laughed at me because i thought i was really smart. That was in 9th grade i had been put forward into the mainstream English class because of a racial incident, a black girl in the remedial English class complained that i qas getting special treatment. I needed that class just as much as she did. 42 years later its finally clear how this affected me and i could probably sue the school and i probably WILL write something (lol) about it and address it to the appropriate forum.
All the while i was creating a language all my own; it came together in the longrunning blog, poet interrupted which had about 250 followers for about 5 years. It was full of gibberish as i tried to eak sense out if rhe twisted and contorted expressions of an English American woman in the household of a Canadian Scottish military man who attended high school on a military base in Germany. Being English Anerican is enough of a struggle all by itself and nunerous writers have tackled it, usually with humor.
Anyway as i look back over my life i see that i was working on a problem; and in the end i learned to communicate. And i see that i never had to feel guilty or ashamed of my weakness or my illess; i renember the social dysphoria at its height during the year that i was on a leave if absence fron Hutton after rhe year as leader of the Hutton Dove, when my sweat had a pungent odor and i had difficulty talking and everything looked to be in black and white. The heaviness of those years is finally gone and i can say “im alive.” I had the most unbelievable challenges and in the end the Lord led me tbrough them to a state of Grace.
So i was awaiting execution all my life for sins against literature. Now i am proved through and i was just another part of the dance.
And thats all i ever wanted.