“I don’t have the patience to be a professor. I wouldn’t want to grade papers, prepare for classes, etc. I would rather become renowned and envied in a certain field and then guest lecture.”
“What would you be an expert in?”
“What? What does that mean?”
I will never understand how my mother manages to smile after one of these exchanges. Or how my sister can listen to a revue of metaphors (“I feel like Carrot-top playing Hamlet…the anesthesia before the operation…the Easter bunny on call for every holiday”) and not slug me like any self-respecting Lucy would. They both somehow balance being guardians and audience members.
One day transition will no longer be normalcy, I will stun the artistic and Christian community with style and excellence, and Molly Ringwald will finally get an Oscar.
Until then, it’s just another manic Monday.