And when October goes The snow begins to fly Above the smoky roofs I watch the planes go by Johnny Mercer/Barry Manilow
It’s November 1st, and it’s SNOWING! I’m not ready for this. It’s not sticking to the streets, but it is sticking to roofs. My car is spotted with white, now, and I’m not happy about it. It’ll be gone in an hour or two, but that’s beside the point. At least I get my hour back tomorrow. I laid in bed this morning enjoying the whole “being warm” thing, something I didn’t really get Friday morning, and realized that it is November, finally, suddenly. I also tried to figure out what I would write about, trying to avoid the topics everyone will cover – time change and mid-term elections. They’re both important things to me, just not something I want to cover again!
When I was in college, and had time for an elective for me, I took a creative writing class. Last one I’d been in was my 2nd year in high school. I wasn’t a fan of the teacher*, so I dropped it. It wasn’t required, and I didn’t want the stress of being in a class I hated by choice. That would be one of those regrets I carry to this day. Still, I did get two years in high school, so that was good. This one in college I though should be interesting. The professor had been published – which, honestly, doesn’t mean a whole lot, even then – and I loved to write.
Thing is, the only class I could get into, between my schedule and availability, was on Monday nights from 6 to 8:40 or 4 to 6:40 or something ridiculous like that. There were good lessons, I’m sure, but the two that stuck with me is 1) Try not to write what everyone else is writing – we had an assignment to take Frost’s “Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening” and using the same cadence, write a poem that was similar. Since we were in college, an awful lot of us wrote about parties. Yep, I did too. The professor wasn’t impressed, and even lectured us briefly on it. The second thing that stuck with me is that I don’t do well in a class that’s more than 2 hours long, even if I enjoy the subject. Too hard to sit still that long, too hard to pay attention, even with a break. When I went back to school in Colorado, working toward an MS in Accounting that I never finished, those classes didn’t seem to be as long. Honestly can’t remember how often they met, if it was once or twice a week. It was the more recent of the two experiences, by almost 20 years, and it didn’t stick with me as well as I might have liked. Kinda sad, that.
Right, so be sure to vote, make sure it’s an informed vote, not one determined by the loudest ad or pundit, and don’t forget to turn your clocks back before you go to bed tonight. Or get up at 2 and do it then, whatever.
I’m just glad this week is over. I stopped hurting by Tuesday, but I had a few things on my mind, a follow-up appointment for something not related to the PKD, wondering if there was any way I would be able to afford to go to Vienna with my choir, the fact that it was DARK at 8 in the morning, and cold, dealing with the complicated files at work, which tend to take up half my day, realizing I was in desperate need of a shopping trip – I don’t own much in the way of winter clothes – and other fun and exciting things like that.
By the way, the follow-up was fine, nothing to worry about, and no, I don’t think I can afford to go to Vienna with my choir. The trip itself I could probably manage, since it’s paid in chunks; it’s the flight that’s put an end to that dream. Should have known better than to hope for that one. At this point in my life, with my current health – which is stable now, and has been for over a year – this was probably my last chance to go anywhere like that. Well, with a group, anyway. Going by myself doesn’t appeal. I like being able to share the events of the day with someone who was there, who would have some of the same memories. Maybe that’s why I’d never make a good cougar. I’m a sapiosexual being; I gotta be able to connect mentally with someone, intelligently, intellectually. Romantic or platonic, if we can follow one another, and it’s a challenging game, then you’re stuck with me. Much as I hate to admit it, that’s another one† of the reasons my marriage so long ago didn’t last; he didn’t have it in him. He wasn’t stupid by any stretch, just didn’t have the means to challenge me.
I’ve run into that a few times, actually. I don’t need a man who is more intelligent than I am – I am officially in that 2% genius range – there’s plenty of things I don’t know or understand in the world. Just someone who isn’t threatened by a woman who might be a subject-matter-expert on an area he’s not familiar with, who doesn’t feel the need to prove how much more intelligent he is, who can have a conversation, a discussion, with logical references, who can follow along, who isn’t afraid to ask when he doesn’t understand, and who will answer when I ask because I don’t understand. Sense of humor is extremely important. It helps if it’s similar to mine – appreciating the humor in both The Fifth Element and Airplane, catching oblique references, and not looking at me like I’m nuts when I laugh at something he misses.
I know he exists; he has to. I’ve just stopped really looking.
Oh, right. Welcome to November. It stopped snowing, but it’s still bitterly cold. Vote, turn back your clocks, and turn on the heat for crying out loud! I know some of you haven’t, yet.
*For those who are familiar with where I went to school, it was Mrs. H, not Ms. H, who I had that 2nd year.
†There are several reasons, some better than others. Not his fault.