At an impasse.
10:23 a.m.
I took a walk to the university and back yesterday, going on the bike path where it follows the St. Francis to its confluence with the Massawippi, kicking up fallen leaves and enjoying the fresh, fall air. Most of the deciduous trees are bare now; the oaks being the last to go are covered with coppers and bronzes, so unlike the golds and clear reds of the earlier turning maples. There is still a smattering of yellow on some of the birches, but the hills have their winter look about them, brown and fuzzy. Soon the snow will blanket even that. We call that fashion colour “winter white” for a very good reason.
I spent a lot of time during my walk thinking about my essay. I guess I can tell you what it’s about. I am one of the 10% of women who suffer from vuIvar vestibuIitis, a condition that makes pressure on the vulva, including the insertion of tampons and sexual intercourse, painful. It isn’t a disease, there is no cause and no cure. Sometimes it’s better than other times (i.e. less painful) and sometimes I want to swear off sex for the rest of my life. The pluses must outweigh the minuses because I haven’t yet. But this condition, which shall henceforth be known as v.v. has affected me ever since I’ve been sexually active.
Last night I finally put pen to paper (yes, I find I write better the old-fashioned, manual way), and the ink just flowed. I started detailing my relationships, changing the names of course, with past sexual partners, in light of how v.v. affected them. I could probably have stayed up and written all night, but fatigue claimed me (I also spent time online, and that makes my eyes tired), so I went to bed.
But lying in bed, unable to sleep (which is perfectly normal for me, even after reading a chapter in my book) it occurred to me that I cannot submit this particular essay to this competition. If I were to win, which is unlikely in the extreme, but if I were to win, I would have to tell my in-laws, who would then want to read my winning entry. There is absolutely no way I could ever, and I mean ever have my mother-in-law know that her daughter-in-law was the campus slut before she married her son. I mean, let’s get real here.
And so, I’m at an impasse. I really want to enter this competition. I really want to write about my experience with v.v. I have considered changing my focus, writing it as though it were a work of fiction, but that still wouldn’t go over with my MIL were I to win. I won’t win, I already know that, but on the off chance that it happens, I just can’t do this. So, what should I do? The deadline fast approacheth. I feel so torn. Argh!
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