November 21, 2018

Calm Wednesday, preparing for the drive to Atlanta.

It’s pretty certain my attacker is Z, from many classes, who, ironically, I thought of as a kind of pet, whose always-radical but not always adept poetry I fostered and encouraged. Completely blindsided. I knew it was she beating on my house, but I’d put that down to an undergraduate prank, essentially endearing. Before all the gods I do not know how I settled in her mind like this. Never having done or said or thought any of the things I’m accused of doing or saying or thinking, I search my conscience for some crumb that might have led to this disastrous road. Emotional imbalance on her part is the explanation, but there is still the question of how it chose me as its obsession. I make the mistake of placing these things, for a little while, at the center of my life. I’ll have 4 hours on the road to Atlanta to mull it over. Lori confides that the same thing happened when Trans students invented a campaign against her, which someone, for a while, had to take seriously. How much energy are we meant to spend dealing with our students’ emotional imbalances? Are these accusations ever legitimate? Perhaps I need to hear of a legitimate one, to leaven the mocking anger in my heart. I still must deal with the observation that a handful of people hated or hate me to the point of public demonstration, and I do not know exactly why. Or even approximately why, other than that I have spoken the truth to them. On the other hand, I do not recall a very public or very vehement demonstration of love. Maybe the lovers are subtler. Maybe the fault is in me, in which case it is also hidden from me.

But I feel better this morning than I did last night.