July 23, 2013

The incessant rains played havoc with my vegetables. One zucchini, one eggplant, a good crop of Roma tomatoes, perhaps not much else

Each summer there seems to be a manufactured health crisis. Past recent summers others did the manufacturing; this time it was me. The phrase “macular degeneration” was in my head, perhaps because my eyes were tired from working so hard on the novel. I went to a new doctor because Maria works in the office. Maria had talked about how wonderful the doctors were, but I had pictured men. The office was a complete matriarchy, all women, with that style one associates with female organization. My doctor was so stunningly beautiful that it was difficult to get the mind around her actually being a doctor. In any case, there was no macular degeneration (my macula turn out, like my intestines, to be among my strong points) and I spent $1000 on new glasses and the trimmings. What did I mean by “female organization”? Apparently yielding but actually insistent and, when necessary, repetitious; the determination to have things a certain way while projecting openness and an illusion of choice. Nothing huge, but noticeable, a nuance. It is my experience that women go around corners where men walk straight through, and their determination for the goal is greater, as they have taken the longer way.

I will finish Wyona this morning, perhaps within the hour. Odd to be so immersed in something one cannot share with others, except as a finished product. People ask what I’ve been doing and the answer, “creating a new world” is impossible and the answer “writing” is lame. I should have raised a family. I should have made birdhouses.