Flower Fortune- Sweetbriar: Poetry and fragrance.

I don't usually write about my day. As a day that stands out. I don't usually write about my day as it is individually, to say. This probably comes from the fact that the weeks seem like one big blur, one big swipe of color, one big cloud of smoke. But today, today was different.

Today was the day I realized I have no control over myself. That there is some greater force occupying me, taking up space in my being, and bellowing its words through my mouth. For some reason I shone with confidence today, and even wore purple heels with jeans all through my classes.

But, this presentation....a speech. It made me realize that I am not just my own person anymore, that I speak for my husband's wife, my lover's lover, my children's mother. It is strange to recognize so many different beings in yourself.

I had to give a presentation in front a group of professors on the difference between North American channels (psychics) and shaman in South America. I had prepared the best speech, since it is a topic that I find completely interesting. However, I didn't expect Edward to be one of the professors attending since he is in the English department and this is a solely anthropological topic. He, also, did not know that I would be giving the speech, from what I could tell when he walked in and saw me standing at the podium. He smiled coyly, but his dark eyes widened and I could detect a little fear in them. (It goes without saying that if anyone found out about our affair, we would be permanently expelled from the university.) He sat in the front row in his usual position: hands folded on his lap, foot resting, tapping, on his other, leaning back confidently. I tried not to look at him, but now and again heard his hand run across his beard. I tried harder to ignore the sound that I had become so intimately associated with.

Everyone sat down, I gave my speech, put jokes in as needed, got applause and came to questions. I thought I had done well, thought I had given my opinions clearly and with the proper evidence. Everyone else thought I had too, except for one man who I happen to know is a chemistry professor and does not study in the field of any sort of anthropology. (Which means, even if I were giving a discourse on medical anthropology, he still wouldn't be all that qualified to critique.) He kept asking me unrelated questions about my speech and when I couldn't answer them he blatantly snorted and rolled his eyes. One of his neighbors asked him to be polite and please stick to the topic. During this whole episode, Edward stared at me, smiled a little, gave me a wink. But when the man wouldn't be quiet, and had asked me his fifth rude question, I almost left the podium. Seeing that I was upset, Edward's face dropped into a morose seriousness (much like those of the other professors around him) and he stood up and faced the man. He spoke in a clear, deep voice, the one I find oddly sensual, the one most other professors find authoritative:
If we wanted scientific interpretations as to the origin of religion in a man's personal psychological makeup, we would pick up Freud.
Several audience members applauded weakly.
I stared at him, his stance, the way he kept his shoulders high and the gentle slope of his muscular arms. So different from the gray-headed, tubby armchair enthusiasts all around him.
Professor, I said, the voice coming from the pit of my stomach, Thank you. Usually I can handle men on my own. But it seems you've given me a whole new perspective.
Most of the professors laughed, but Edward's face showed he was not amused.

It was not until he called afterwards that we had a good laugh about it.

I just wish I could tell my husband. He would get the humour. The subject, however, might wear him a little thin.