Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Three Beautiful Things 04/22/14: Bubble Wrap, First Whopper, Authenticity

1.  Bubble wrap.  Shipping tape.  Constructing boxes.  Making decisions.  I took a break to teach my class.  Right now my life is centered around bubble wrap, shipping tape, constructing boxes, and making decisions.  What stays?  What goes?

2.  I was reminded today of when I lived in married student housing on Arthur and about 15th thirty-five years ago and one day I was home alone and I had the car and I'd never tried a Whopper before at Burger King and I remember feeling like I was spending money I should have spent on something else, but I spent it on a Whopper at the Burger King on West 11th.  I enjoyed the Whopper's char broiled taste and I liked the sesame bun and the fries pleased me.  The sandwich, I remember, paired well with Coca-Cola.  This all came back to me when I was on my way to Staples to buy more bubble wrap and shipping tape and boxes to construct and stopped in at the Burger King on West 11th and had a Whopper with fries and a Coca-Cola. 

3.  The Deke asked me to meet her at Cornucopia and when I arrived a margarita suddenly appeared at our table before I'd had a chance to decide what I wanted and this tickled me and I stopped laughing so I could have a sip.  I talked with the Deke about all the writing I've done over the years where I've tried too hard to sound intellectual or to be poetic and I was trying too hard because I was trying to prove myself to fellow grad students or professors or to any one of a small number of  women I thought I loved.  I've read some of that writing as I've been packing and it embarrasses me.  It's painful to read such strained writing.  In our seventeen years together, I've never felt like I had to prove myself to the Deke.  It's what I like about writing in this blog.  In the vast majority of the postings, I haven't tried to impress anyone or prove myself.  I've tried to be authentic and tried not to attempt to sound smarter than I am.  It's a relief.  I enjoy writing within the bounds of my own experience and intelligence and imagination.  When I go outside these bounds, I embarrass myself.  

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