so i've been slaving away on the sex toboggans. which are (is?), in fact, now titled: "DESPERATE WOMEN GAMBLE ALL!"
prior to our recent trip to memphis, i called my mother re: the question iposed here last week. ie. if you can make the case for visual interdependence, can't you also make the case for narrative interdependence?
somewhere in the course of this 2012 conversation about jackie and liz, i said something to debo that i am without a doubt certain i said to debo in october 2004.
this was when i was living in memphis at my parents' place and would wake up and write for three hours.
there was a certain saturday that i remember for absolutely no reason beyond the fact that when i went down to the dining room and interrupted whatever it was my parents were doing there to ask them about jackie and liz, i was struck by how quickly debo stopped what she was doing to listen to me.
and, at the time, i thought, wow. how is she not sick of hearing me talk about this?
that was 2004. TWO THOUSAND AND FOUR.
people, it is 2012.
i point that out not so much to acknowledge that i am still saying essentially the same thing (which i am), but the fact that my mother has been patiently listening to it for the last EIGHT years.
that might be the best working definition i have of true love.