Misery

Posted on 09 December 2005

Oh, it has been too difficult to write. I have been consumed with anger. Mostly towards myself. Who in their right mind would carry a wallet full of money and credit cards in Paris?

And then I am struck with a cold that does not allow me to think clearly, that keeps me awake at night. I cough and rasp. I am a fountain. I am Rudolph.

And then I hear from the store. They are playing with changing my idea for the finale of the Advent Calendar. I am struck with anger at their stupidity. I can’t sleep. I think all is ridiculous. Especially me. Why am I doing a job where I am not sufficiently rewarded or appreciated? I am about to quit, to walk away.

I am Atlas (or so I imagine.)

I have just read “Weight: The Myth of Atlas and Heracles” by Jeanette Winterson and the one paragraph that grips me reads as follows:

“The ancients believed in Fate because they recognized how hard it is for anyone to change anything. The pull of past and future is so strong that the present is crushed by it. We lie helpless in the force of patterns inherited and patterns re-enacted by our own behaviour. The burden is intolerable.”

And then amid all the heaviness are Gill, Brendan, and Rob. And though I can’t quite escape my weight, these three, in their individual ways, help me to see my worth more clearly, to laugh at myself, to become lighter.


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