item #2229

Friday was about my future, I realise; and maybe I dwell too much upon that, as I suspect you think, but don't say. You asked me to write about my innermost feelings. So here I am, doing just that. You said my writing should include earlier, more involved writing, which I did when I felt myself to be more lucid. I started to get emotional when you suggested I was not quite as perceptive as I used to be. It seemed too sudden, and I remembered feeling guilty about situations I still cannot believe really happened to me; so I reacted badly, I suppose. Why does all this frighten me? I just don't know. All I can say is that I probed my memory further, and realised that, I was still angry with myself about specific situations, and that I was transferring that anger onto anything you might have said. I feel like someone else ends these things, and, really, in myself, I never pay attention to what I say when I'm that other person. Can you understand how disconcerting that is for me? I grew up craving a situation where I have to constantly defend myself, so that I could make disagreement a feature of how I express myself. But, darling, this just isn't that situation. It pains me to think I still don't live that life, but I'm incredibly proud of myself because it still remains an issue. I haven't lost sight of things. I still have this overwhelming urge and the urge itself is providential. Another good point is that I'm less inclined to be amazed these days. I absolutely could not live in awe like I did, maybe, twenty years ago. All the answers I sought, childishly, have revealed themselves to be empty shells, white elephants, misnomer. It is the not knowing that interests me now. Anyway, that's all in my head. What I really want to say is that I miss you, and I want to put myself in a big white envelope and post myself off to you. Emily