Z has to practice his cello. But he just wants to talk about how he can’t practice. I’m like, “Just fucking practice, just pick up the cello and practice. You can’t do anything until you practice.”
I’ve been writing about my life with my kids for twenty years, but how can I keep doing it when he tells me he can’t practice because he can’t hear? It’s not interesting to read about someone else’s kids unless it’s about conflict. But this is not a conflict. Because Z thinks his whole life is over. That’s like the conflict of is there a God or is there not? It’s such a big conflict that it’s an absurd thing to write about.
So I don’t just have the problem of dealing with making very large payments on a cello that my kid can’t totally play, or the problem that we have a lawsuit with Uber that is taking so long that I’ll probably be dead before Z sees the settlement.