So, after making it through the sandstorm-poop-a-thon writeamatrix beat down walk on the beach this morning now that the writeamatrix is back from vacation, I made it through the day of legitimate meetings with our contractor and CAD expert – mapping out our future home, but not without hearing the occasional whip-crack on the floor behind me.
SHE, meaning the writeamatrix, my academic writing whipcracker, did NOT want me to forget her presence – and the need to get things done. The wind on the roof, the sand in the front yard and the waves crashing across the street all added to her fury – or were they as a result of her fury?
In times like these, M. always tells me that I need to take a more eastern approach to life – relax more, live life, not worry so much. “Easy for him to think,” I often mutter under my breath, “he’s a Bohemian with a capital B and an artist and has always marched to a different drummer. I am trying to prove that I can have a career even if I started late and had a somewhat misspent youth that I have to make up for.”
As I closed the door on our contractor and CAD lady, the dog was literally dancing, as if to say “please, please, please take me for a walk, it loosk SO fun out there!” and in case I didn’t get it, the puppets also began an advocacy campaign akin to their Occupy movement a few months ago when they wanted some new music and got me to buy the discovered Ottoman records CD.
Today, however, it was about Occupying the Writeamatrix. “We are the 99% of you, and we want the writeamatrix out! They say banks got bailed out – we got sold out? You know? Well in this case, you bailed the tenure out, are we going to get sold out? You know, the 99% of you – and, DUH, M.? What about him? Please, m’lady, please,” they cried, “please just take the damn dog for a walk at the beach! It will be good for you both – she’ll get over it if you don’t get RIGHT to work on your academic writing.”
Feeling the pull, I quickly slipped out to the door. When we reached the beach across the street, the waves were furious, white-capped and frothy in their fervor, my dog wanted none of it. The air was invigorating – wild and wooly and wet and free and I felt as great as the sparkles all around me.
But the dog pulled me away, afraid of the mayhem. Determined to give him a good time, I hopped into the car to take him to the Ocean side of the town – Herring Cove Beach – but the writeamatrix caught up with me there – projected through the droplets of sunlight on the seawater – but projected to larger than life, riding Poseidon‘s wave-horses onto the beach – splashing all over the cars watching the mayhem. It wasn’t long before I got the heck out of there and back home, to work, on…….the……….article…….and……..the……….syllabus.
Esma, the tiny hippie puppet, still exuding ginger flowers and sharp birds-of-paradise flowers in her anger at the hegemony that is the Writeamatrix, with whom she is in an epic battle, just spent the evening sitting across from me, shooting her flower darts my way, saying “why are you 3 hours away from your husband on a Friday night? Why don’t you let it go a bit, let it step down, let your life come back in now that you have tenure? I don’t care if there is a windstorm, we are the 99% of you, and we miss M. You need to go home first thing in the morning!” Nodding, I decided to redouble my efforts to at least finish the syllabus tonight, and then go home for the weekend – just with M.
“Don’t forget, m’lady,” Hacivad Bey reminded me late into the night, “we are the 99% and while we may have lost this battle, we ARE going to win the war.”
- The Writematrix Makes Her Presence Known (even Karagöz is cowering) (slowly-by-slowly.com)
- Back to life, back to reality: On Rumi, writing and tripe (yes, tripe) (slowly-by-slowly.com)
- Ottomans in America: 99% of the Karagozis occupy my armchair with music demands (slowly-by-slowly.com)
- Writamatrix and Hacıyatmaz: On the rote hard labor and love of writing (slowly-by-slowly.com)
- Gecekondu: The puppets protest at the Ptown digs (slowly-by-slowly.com)