Much like a landscape you’ve gazed at from a distance, the experience undergoes a radical change when seen up close. Instead of a coherent scene with all discrepancies smoothed out, there you are with jagged bits, unexpected (nay, unwanted) details, a restless cast of characters who know they’re about to get thrown over with no promises of severance pay or unemployment benefits. (Just to confirm this to the writer, a kind agent sends me her kind thanks this morning for work that isn’t the right fit for her. Always helpful when approaching the ending to another piece of fiction headed straight for the slush pile.)
But what? Courage, yes? The sky is free of clouds this morning. The sun rising in golden splendor. The apartment… never mind the apartment. One thing is certain: one of the characters is standing in front of her personal take on one of the great classics of nineteenth-century painting. A large canvas. An eyesore, in her treatment of it? That too.
Allez. Kind thanks, the agent wrote – I mean, her rejection letter says. Best not to give it too much thought. Nor to the boy about to get thrown over by his father. Nor to… etc.
A new day. How best to make the best of it, and of the utter visual mess I encounter, every time I lift my eyes from the screen and look around at the apartment. The place looks like a half-struck set after a walk-out by the stagehands. Still no answer about the job. Still no idea where I go next. The whole thing gets laughable on a regular basis, and am I ever grateful for that.