The Story is the Lesson
Record number of comments (for the, what? couple of months I've had open comments) on last night's entry. High school experiences resonate with almost everyone, I guess. For the couple of people who took slight issue with me for being suspicious of people with too many good memories of high school (and for those who didn't speak up but may have felt tarred by my extremely wide brush): I didn't mean I would write you off as a person for having those memories, only that it would give me a "Wow, really?" moment. I do know several weirdos (including my oldest friend) who were luckier, less pigheaded, more socially adaptable, whatever, and thus managed to find their own group a lot earlier than I did. Often that group was theater, which makes sense to me since I sought out a theater group at that age too, only with adults instead of classmates.
As for the "suspected lesson" people asked about: It came to me in the wee insomniac hours of this morning that to truly process this lesson and explain it to others, I'd probably have to turn it into a story: make Golden Girl into a rounded character, explore what I went through and what she symbolized to me, pinpoint the moment where I realized I didn't want what she symbolized, and so on. It's not a story I plan to write or would have been likely to write even when I was producing completed fiction; I point this out only to explain that that is how my mind works. The story itself would be the lesson (although if it were any good, it wouldn't read like one).
I was going to tackle another topic, but I'm writing this with my laptop balanced on the arm of the couch because there's a cat in my lap, and I have to twist my back in an awkward way to type, and it hurts. I don't even think I want to know how much of my back pain is attributable to cats.
This post is rife with parentheses. I'm sorry. They just tend to proliferate sometimes.
As for the "suspected lesson" people asked about: It came to me in the wee insomniac hours of this morning that to truly process this lesson and explain it to others, I'd probably have to turn it into a story: make Golden Girl into a rounded character, explore what I went through and what she symbolized to me, pinpoint the moment where I realized I didn't want what she symbolized, and so on. It's not a story I plan to write or would have been likely to write even when I was producing completed fiction; I point this out only to explain that that is how my mind works. The story itself would be the lesson (although if it were any good, it wouldn't read like one).
I was going to tackle another topic, but I'm writing this with my laptop balanced on the arm of the couch because there's a cat in my lap, and I have to twist my back in an awkward way to type, and it hurts. I don't even think I want to know how much of my back pain is attributable to cats.
This post is rife with parentheses. I'm sorry. They just tend to proliferate sometimes.