The last time I think I did anything particularly clever I was 14 or maybe 15 years old.
I was failing at every single class in school and managed to talk my way into staying in regular classes and not get myself bounced into Special Education.
Basically I said if they did that to me I’d quit school.
So they let me stay in regular classes and I started to do well and then I hit the honor roll and then I got accused of cheating.
So I would go into my math classes and goof off so the best I would do is pass the tests at a C or D. I chose to sacrifice my math grade because I truly and with the passion of million white hot suns HATED math.
I got sympathy for that because “girls’ were supposed to struggle with math.
I could bomb at Nuclear levels at math which was acceptable- nobody talked about putting me in Spec Ed for that.
Come to think of it, I was writing a lot back in those days and I even won awards and that is the only reason I wasn’t forced marched into classes with students who were even more challenged then I was.
Once I got into Highschool I either got A’s or F’s.
You know who cared?
Since then I can’t say I’ve done anything really clever, haven’t been bailed out of dire situations, haven’t scored any big wins in the game of life.
Most of the time I’m just glad to not get noticed on a day to day basis. I’m not sure, but I think writing sort of cancels that one out.
It’s odd, part of me has been ready to fade into obscurity and another part of me goes out and writes, hits the enter button on my laptop and sends my thoughts out to the interwebs where they will float around until the Interwebs are no more.
So writing I suppose is the way I’ve dealt with life jamming lemons down my throat.
I’ve lost people I cared about, my nephew died a young man, I suffer from depression and at times all I can manage is to get to work, come home and walk the dog.
I manage to write though even on my worst days.
There could be less interesting ways to make something out of lemons I suppose.