Bleeding Ego

"It deserves its own taxonomy of suckitude." Julia Scott, more cutesie than a grandiose spastic

If you put this online you'll regret it immediately, interior conscious intoned. Interior conscious voice was absolutely correct, and the piece isn't kept for it virtual jazz with a composite of a man whose intellectual energy was all but fatal to a precocious disposition embedded in quadriplegia; it isn't kept for the sake of the fact that it serves as a bad apologia for not doing the work toward dissertation, nor for self-pity.

Given that, writers need to know when to throw something out, move on: my animosity toward my philosophy professor was unconscious when I was 21, but age has seasoned an intense dislike: he did sleep with a student, did hurt her, and I did get angry, and it did have repercussions I shall  leave unstated. Some wounds are worth picking; some aren't, and naked bodies horrify me when I am not ready, and when I am, make me laugh callously. Penises seem to convey evolution has a sense of humor (can I hear Richard Dawkins scoff? see how Catholic atheists and Anglican atheists get on? Dawkins and I would come to blows in roughly five minutes on the talk circuit). I keep Discard because I am trying to get at something, and may keep some elements of the meta-autobiography.

There are interesting imperfections and, more simply, just imperfections, and knowing the difference takes seasoning.

The spastic in the story was present in the narrative before my (ahem) nervous breakdown, and I asked myself if I was a latent lesbian like Fern, the Jewish Trotsky who case managed with an iron fist and was driven out by my favorite transsexual. I have known too many faggots for my own good, after all, and I've created bisexual women for my own subversive intentions, so that must mean something, but masochism isn't the same thing as gravitation: breast nipples and and the modesty of the labia do not arouse me. 

However, my now nefarious supervisor was causing me pain, and I kept talking. Real fucking smart solution, and 14 years to even begin to ease my trauma, being disparaged by colleagues, classmates, because two women with cerebral palsy, slighting-touched by it more than some, inflicted so much damage on each other. I miss Linda Dezenski. She was the peer I never had growing up, and needed, and while she and I were screaming at each other on the phone, 14ish years back, "What do you want from me?" She wailed. Enough respect, for a start, for her to admit her liability, make amends for it. If people like her are true believers, that is what you do.

How is this a tutorial on revising and discarding, again?