Jun. 3rd, 2017

Dr. G.

Jun. 3rd, 2017 09:15 am
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Although I have been fairly free of the 3 A.M. sweats, thoughts of my 'life failure' still regularly break into my thought-stream. And I had a new insight this morning into the Dr. G. complex part of it. Part of the deal, I think, is this sense of mine that he still kind of owes me a 'talk'. When we last spoke on the phone, after all, in that dramatic winter of '97, when Jack and I had a true fight, and after I handed him my Old Journal, he did say he would talk with me. (This was also that moment when both my mother and I thought my life might be taking off, after all, thanks to Dr. G and the high opinion I presumed he might have of my journal.) Accordingly, this created in me an expectation that he still might call me one of these days, despite all of this time that has emptily passed and made me a fifty-year-old, rendering any call from him meaningless - what's left to save of me?

However, I realized this morning that Dr. G. likely feels that he discharged that duty to talk with me when I went to pick up my old journal at his university office a few years later, after my mother killed herself (and a little after 9/11 as I recall), when he had his office girl relay the message that he thought I was a good writer. It struck me as a little odd at the time, but I just shook it off as being just another part of the overall absurd drama and joke that my life had become. Now I see that his brief banal message, in his mind, was our 'talk'. He probably figured that this was the kindest way out of his promise and out of my life.

Okay then.

I wonder if this insight will at least free me from these fantasies of answering his call, the ones which lately have me telling him to 'fuck off' in one clever way or another. This is one little absurdity that I wouldn't mind being finally free of. It is a pity that I have been harboring this sickly expectation for all of these past 15 years or so because of a misunderstanding, but that is the kind of life I have led.

Hey, it was either this or laboring in food service or as an 'office girl' (and giving me a position as an office girl is presumably the best favor Dr. G. could have done for me). My life is ridiculous, but the situation is pretty absurd as well, in this land of billionaires and injuns and ... me.

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