Today promises to be tragic, if only because what might have been an off day will instead be devoted to work. The tragedy, alas, is that the work I’ll be doing is getting done in anticipation of a hectic week to come; the work I do today will be the work I would normally do next Saturday. Hopefully, if I do the work of next Saturday in a timely fashion, I’ll be all ready to get ahead of the work I’ll need to do on the weekend of April 10th. Let us call this process “sisyphean sexy.” Doing so will make me feel better about it.
While I’m keen on planning ahead most of the time, today’s schemes will probably get in the way of a strategic lapse of lazy. I dislocated my leg on Monday (in a delightful episode of socket-poppin’ hilarity), and while I was able to relocate my femur (to Arizona, incidentally; I’m hoping the desert air will do it good), I’ve got a rodeo-quality hitch in my giddy-up that deserves a day or two of bed rest. Natheless, I still consider this weekend part of the Week of Wiggedy Willfulness, and that means I cannot take the easy way out, no matter how appealing it might seem.
The WoWW arose as an extension of Sex and the Single Professor IV, in which I noted that I more often than not chicken out when faced with cases of conventional Wandlessian cowardice. I wrote about professorial sexytime in an effort to shake off one set of mind-forg’d manacles, and this week I’ve tried to punch through a few more barriers I’ve set up in my own way. On Thursday, for example, I went to the talent show hosted by the Honors department. Astute observers outside Warriner Hall might have noticed a fretful bald man beating a hasty retreat from the auditorium only to turn right around and march back in. You see, I’m none too fond of crowds, and when I arrived the audience was seemingly spilling out into the lobby; upon returning, however, I realized that the mob was not as unruly as I imagined–folks were simply hovering around the entrance while their peeps signed up for door prizes. Trivial though it may seem, flying solo to such events is always a struggle for me, and I’ll often decline opportunities and invitations simply because of anticipated awkwardness. Had I caved this time I would have missed a nifty show, and I’m accordingly trying to get in the habit of ignoring my inner poltroon. I know full well that these habits of mine are irrational (when not downright ridiculous), and the WoWW is intended to combat some of the dumber errors of evasion I am prone to.
While this policy of obstinacy might warrant some revision (my Studies in Authors class was twice treated to discussions led by a light-headed lecturer hopped up on caffeine and more Advil than any one-legged prof ought to ingest), I think its effects have been salutary, even bracing. I normally self-censor as a matter of course, but this week I’ve said more of the things I wanted to say; I tend to be discreet, moderate, and politic, but this week I’ve purposely resisted my habit of shying away from discomfort, anxiety, and conflict. Have I shattered all the walls that stand between The World and My Authentic Self? Hell to the no–all the folks that pride themselves on doing so are, in my learned estimation, pathological jackasses who use candor and authenticity as excuses for boorish, selfish behavior. The walls remain (and will remain) intact, but I opened up a few windows, maybe a door. That’s a lot of progress for one week.
As for my writing…well, let’s just say that the work I’ve squeezed in this week looks quite a bit different from the observational verse and prose that have typified my writing life of late. Whether or not it will be good work (after the usual rounds of revisions) remains to be seen, but I think that second self of mine, the one I weigh down with worry and reserve, deserves a chance to be heard.
