September 16, 2018:
"I've read your writing," she began, with a really rather nasty undertone that was both dismissive and superior.
She carried on with another egregious swipe from on high, this time about how my incompetent spelling, while admittedly improved over the decades, nevertheless bugs her batty.
Par for the proverbial course, then. Elitist, controlling, mean-spirited, with an undercurrent of genuine anger. Originating from some poisoned, evil well from which I emphatically have no intention of drinking.
So that when she transitioned suddenly to compliments I was more than shocked. I was confused.
"But this," she said, meaning literally this, these daily exercises and experiments. "This is different entirely."
She went on to a catalog: confessional, poetry, algorithmic, haiku, memoir, essays, jokes. Culminating in the word "genius" which I found then and still now find far beyond ludicrous.
It's unclear to me — well — exactly what the fuck. The reason someone so controlling and so manipulative would follow her usual laundry list of put-downs with something so generous. It left me pondering: OK, where's this going?
In the end it went nowhere. I came to the conclusion that the manipulativeness and the controlling strongly suggest someone who wants her own cult following. Which — duh — isn't something I'm now or ever will be remotely down for.
Your guess is as good as mine.