Never Underestimate the Impact of the Hand-Written

lookfar sent me this card yesterday, which honestly is the BEST CARD I have ever received from anyone in my life!!!!!!

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Meanwhile…

I had a strange, strange dream. After I woke up (once again) at 2 in the morning and read myself back to sleep.

I was in a seaside village with a teenage RTT and Ben, who had endeared himself to the seaside village’s inhabitants. (Not surprising: Ben could be possessed of considerable personal charm when he wanted to be.)

I think I’d had this fabulous life before I arrived in the seaside village. I’d been solo-parenting RTT. And I’m not quite sure how I arrived in the seaside village except that I was supposed to be handing over the solo parenting of RTT to Ben.

Ben was leaving and taking RTT with him. Maybe to go back to the circus? I dunno. There were all sorts of celebrations for him, fond adieus from the village inhabitants.

Don’t worry, Ben said. I’ll make RTT call you and email you—

But I like handwritten letters, I thought.

—and I’ll walk you to the train station. It’s a pretty long walk—

But I haven’t made any plans to leave! I said. I was shocked. It’s going to take me at least a day—maybe longer—to set up my travel arrangements.

Oh, he said. I thought you already had.

Why would you assume that? I asked. Did we talk about my plans?

No, but—

See, that’s been the problem all along, I said. We never talk about plans. You always just assume—

And then I woke up.

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Well, actually, that was only one of the problems.

There were so many problems.

But I thought it reflected a certain new level of psychological maturity for me to be able to identify that one and call him on it. Even if it was only in a dream.

I think maybe I’m almost healed.

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The book I was reading at 2 in the morning was Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, which has gotten good again.

The sentence structures have even gotten more interesting!

I wonder if that was a deliberate stratagem on Zevin’s part? Make the prose in the earliest part of the book when the protagonists are 12 and then 20 very, very simple, and then complexify it as the protagonists grow older.

Zevin offers this highly amusing and provocative meditation on sex:

Sadie had often reflected that sex and video games had a great deal in common. There were certain objectives that needed to be met. There were certain rules that shouldn’t be broken. There was a correct combination of movements—button mashes, joystick pivots, keystrokes, commands—that made the whole thing work or not work. There was a pleasure to knowing you had played the game correctly and a release that came when you reached the next level. To be good at sex was to be good at the game of sex.

And the section on how Sam acquires his dog is a New Yorker-style short story, incorporating all the University of Iowa’s writing workshop’s unwritten dictates.

(Despite my increasing hatred of The New Yorker as I advance into my curmudgeonly old age like a Russian soldier storming Ukraine, and my absolute conviction that The New Yorker has turned into Reader’s Digest for aging progressives, I still like their fiction.)

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Not much else.

I am Remunerating away like crazy because my clients are sending me enormous amounts of work.

I should be grateful, but hey! I’m not.

And that’s why I wasted $10 on lottery tickets. The grand prize is back up to $1.5 billion.

Their numbers-drawing equipment broke last time, which is why they didn’t draw my numbers the way that God intended.

But I am nothing if not magnanimous, and that’s why I’m giving them another chance.