Last week, my computer went out, and I had to call a "Computer Geek" in. (No offense -- the company is called that: "Computer Geeks"!)
I give thanks not only 'cause the man was able to fix the minor problem for only an hour's charge, but also 'cause... While he was sitting there fiddling with my computer, he also asked, "Are you a writer?"
When he asked that, I was surprised and a bit flustered: "Well, I used to write, I got my Master's in a creative writing program...What makes you ask that?!"
He'd been looking around at all of my poetry books that were shelved, and all of my other books still stacked on the floor, waiting to be shelved... He'd guessed that I was a writer...
I guess in soul and heart and past I am. I guess today "officially" I'm not, other than Joan films that I review and publish for my website.
While he worked on my computer, he and I then started talking about writing, about the newspapers we'd briefly worked at (he, for a Chicago weekly; me, for the New York Sun); about the writing classes we'd taken in school; about how we were struggling now... Him doing freelance computer repairs; me, doing freelance educational publishing copyediting... Both of us trying to furnish our apartments via cheap or free Craig's Listings! He was about 10 years younger than me, with a wife and 3 kids already... But we connected. It felt so good to me, after 2 months of living with my mother, whom I couldn't talk to about anything; after years of my and Sandra's cross-purposes.
Just to talk to someone like a normal human being, about something interesting! Wow! Thank you! :)