I’ve been lecturing myself about speed. Sometimes (a lot of the time) writing lollygags along, which can be so frustrating when you really need and want to finish something. At the same time, trying to force it is usually disasterous (ask me how I know this). Then last night I had a dream about George Calin. We went to see him in concert when I turned thirty, lo those twenty some years ago, and in this dream we were back in that theater and he was pacing up and down the stage, wearing all black, his hair in a ponytail.
And he looks up at me, right at me, and he bellows:
“Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac? So how do you (pointing at me) manage to be both at the same time?”
I think this was my father wearing a George Carlin mask. The two of them had a lot in common, that rough-edged humor thing. If my father were here right now, he’d tell me to stop fooling around, and get back to work. Which I will.