I think the worst part is over, though it hasn't been an entirely easy--or productive--day. The Dobell I read ("The Nature of Poetry"--not his actual poems) was pretty fascination, especially in terms of Kant. The Mill is going more slowly, and the coffeeshop was a bit too crowded for comfort. Have been struggling to find a place to calm down at school, ran into a friend who was able to save me a bit, and The Poet called me a couple of times just to check in.
Hopefully this means I'll be able to go out tonight after all and not worry anyone else.
I have to remind myself that this is all basically like hitting the reset button. It might have been easier this time if I hadn't been so convinced, oh, about a week and a half ago that my life was fine. Good, even. I said to The Poet on the phone this morning, I don't know what happened, I just kept repeating that--I don't know why I got so scared or why the things that were okay last Wednesday weren't okay yesterday. I have partial explanations but they don't add up.
About Me
- the other woman
- "She did not know if she did it on purpose, but she lived as a fatality the necessity of destining her pleasure to the absent one, who moreover was not always the same, the other of the other always possibly being an other. This is naturally, and here I have to quote her, a 'surplus' of always available pleasure, and a 'fatal deprivation.' After a silence: the day that I love someone, man or woman, I am certain, or I believe that it will stop, in any event this is how I will recognize love. I have loved a lot, however, without ever abandoning myself to those I loved, presently I mean. And up to the present. Another silence (I had already asked for the bill) and without anything provocative or vulgar, with a kind of confidence which I still like to think of: I have the feeling that with you [vous] it would be different." (Derrida, Envois)
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