Transient Ventricles

Settled down, I am a bit winded, in my sister's faded navy blue maternity jumper, with the belly hole. I rarely wear it in public, and in fact, most of my clothes are worn out recycle items, ruined, stained, never mind fashionable.  Much doing needs to be done this week, both due to and in spite of my troubled article, and cannot afford to be winded by phlegm build up, haunted as I am by this wee small implosion. It is not the editor and has nothing to do with her. She is a judicious diplomat and praised me where merited, no, this is an issue of my own weakness, morally, or medically, if one needs to see it that way: if I cannot meet the demands of magazine publishing cycles, I'm sunk, and this has hit me in the past week to my inner core, beyond Linda as a pained figurine in my psyche, not that this woman is not a genuine source of pain, she is, but writing is what I am, and I fell down on a perfect opportunity. This hits the real me, not the disabled identity that I am sick of, quite frankly, and it is a problem I will have to handle with more deft caution in the future, that is, if I ever make another sale in my life, after openly discussing this failure. And openly discussing it is more risky, professionally, than any personal details, or gossip that I''ve posted.

I missed a film that might have been applicable for our purposes,  but no matter in the moment, as I am winded.

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As I tend to regenerate a little energy in the pre-dawn hours before my rest, I will add that I have to own a bit of humble pie in relation to the new Jamesian I mention in Ochre; he is seasoned, pleasantly, in relation to my worsted tentacles, and I erred in believing my few words made me seem like a squawking sea gull. He is of my own generation, and I confess this is pleasing, a man of my age with whom to interact on a mutually shared esoteric taste. It will keep in my pocket as a momento, though of course I have not received any further communique from the man since I directed him toward my posts, "pleading the fifth". Maybe this is nothing and he did not take the time to read anything further, or perhaps he retreated, counting his blessings, but the exchange did please me, symbolic of what I have always wanted, a real matriculated life without enforced segregation.