The VOID

Okay, so everything isn't ever really as bad as it seems. I trip along beneath a partly sunny (as opposed to partly cloudy, an important distinction) skies, skipping over sidewalks and treelawns (though I wish, more frequently, meadows filled with buttercups and daffodils). Occasionally, I fall into an oubliette. The falling is never quite what I remember, but the trip back to the surface usually happens with very little effort, indeed. Something cliche about time healing all wounds...hope springing eternal, and so on.

In my extremely grungy office, doing my very efficient best to make good use of the day, and the otherwise long, tedious hours I have to spend on campus. Of course, I spent a couple of years defending the campus from the ubiquitous complaints of its being sterile and unfriendly...not to mention ugly. I don't know that my own objections are driven so much by aesthetics as they are quite simply the desire for comfortable chairs and good lighting. Okay, maybe that is aesthetic.

Anyway, this week is also spiraling toward Thursday. The day when either I will leave campus feeling elated and inspired, like I've been blown into the heavens on a puff of academic excellence, or I'll have to call C to bring her goo gone and a big spatula to scrape me off the cold tile of the ninth floor. I'm hoping to dream of big, floppy signatures scrawling themselves over everything I write, like my pen is beginning to take on for itself the mask of believable authority. I'll write something and it will be unquestionably approved. The alternative is rather more ghastly. But why think about what will really happen, which will undoubtedly be something between these two, when the extremes are so much more believable? Or so much more dramatic or something. I'm really just hoping to hear a few nice things, with minimal requests for revision, but many suggestions and directions for future writing, and approval...ultimately...always the approval. How sad.