One day, during our traditional post-dissertation-meeting get-together, my partner Claire(bear) presented an entertaining little anecdote about our dissertation supervisor.
"He asked me why I wouldn't want to include his suggestion," she told me, rolling her eyes slightly as if I would know precisely why. She looked rather upset. "I told him, 'well...wouldn't that be a little boring?' He said, 'Claire, this is not a racy novel!'"
I hooted out my laughter and hurried to place my drink elsewhere. "Then we should write a racy novel. In the novel you would sit in the meeting with a loosely-fitted jacket and he would look at you--eyes wide with exasperation and one brow arched--and say, 'Claire, this is not a racy novel,' and you would reply, 'Are you sure?' as you slide open your jacket to reveal a corset."
We indulged this fantasy for a while.
The other day, Clairebear mentioned that she was writing a chapter of a racy novel inspired by that moment. She told me she would post it to me with a couple of her old poems for commenting and furthering (goodness knows she has more faith in my supposed literary prowess than she should).
I received the parcel today. It contained a hilarious letter, a few poems and a chapter of a book: A Racy Novel by 'Undiscovered Literary Genius'.
I am so amused. Although I am surprised that it stars Nola (clearly me) and Summer (clearly her) and that we hook up in the end for Professor Supervisor's voyeuristic tastes (I never want to see 'Professor' and 'spent' in the same sentence with him in mind again, unless it's 'spent money').
I'm not concerned at our characters getting it on since it's fictional, designed to be racy and she's almost-entirely straight with a long-term monogamous boyfriend whom I have met and very much liked (as does she, and as she mentioned in her letter, she has just restocked her contraceptives). I'm thinking, though, since she put me in the primary sexual role around the Professor, I'll get her back by letting her and a boyfriend!character get a little exhibitionistic. Or maybe a dominatrix!Nola.
So my friend basically sent me erotica of our lives. What even is my life? And when did it become meta?
In other news, when I was feeling extra-super-duper down the other day my grandmother gave me 'play money' and she loves it best when I use it on silly little things for myself. I went to Savers (giant thrift store) to search for pantsuits, with which I have entered into a budding relationship.
No luck in that department. But I did find a Carebear pillow with Cheer Bear (the rainbow-tummy one) and "Have a rainbow day!" which is incredibly me. Oh, and these too:
I thought you all might be interested in them. Aren't they bewitching? (Despite that I was very much wearing The Wrong Socks as I was dressed for my Docs.)
So now I have to try to stop moping and eating peanut M&Ms, change out of my jammies even without the intention of leaving the house and get things done. Like smut. Smut always need doing, or for those who prefer not to do the doing, it at least needs writing.
And when the pain of knowing that my relationship with Clairebear is now letters and Facebook and Skype rather than almost daily in-person interaction, I'll be busy doing things that need doing. It's okay to sit down in my old rocking chair and hold myself together for a minute, to breathe it all in and exhale it back out again, but what I've been doing lately isn't what works for me.
No more moping, Kiwifruit (or at least a heck of a lot less). Claireyfairy would want that, wouldn't she?
n. A mental diversion to retreat from unpleasant realities through fantasy.