Desire

I would like to write so much more. About Saturday 5 March 2005, when one of my bosses' (AS) wife gave birth to their first child. It gave me a funny feeling, and stirred up thoughts and emotions.

Related to that, my darling girl looks Really set to get married.

And Percival's words resounded with me:

"I remember lying in bed, reading, and the room glows from the soft yellow light of the afternoon sun coming through the curtains. My life is perfect, I realize, except for the dull pain in the dark recess of my chest which reminds me that I am not alone in this world. Though I am whole, there is the Other, which tugs and pushes me.

Love and Hate is the desire to either possess or destroy the Other. Either incorporate that which moves you, or obliterate it. Only then can you follow your course.

Love is at once recognition of the Other, fear of the unknown, hatred of ones limitations, desire of possession, pain of bifurcation.

I can neither swallow nor destroy the universe. So I will draw her close beside me, hold her in my arms, tight against my chest, so that we beat in syncopation."

But I know that if I follow my heart and write, as I so often do on Sunday nights, I will stay up late. And be even more exhausted, grumpy, and angry the whole of the next week.

I have been so angry. Viciously tapping my keyboard keys, banging my mouse against the table, shouting out to myself, giving my computer screen the third finger.

I once said I would stop doing this job if it no longer made me happy, if I don't enjoy it. I'll sleep on it.