Remembering

Sometimes You Remember What You Forgot

Sometimes, like today, I write just for the pleasure of it. Of stringing words together…carving away the stone until the David appears. Well, (nervous snort-laugh) nothing like the David, obviously (OBVIOUSLY!), but eventually clicking into the match of something (what will it be??), some scrap in the Platonic ideal realm that becomes itself with each strike of the chisel.

Reading Christian Näthler—thank you so much for your excellent, inspiring writing— he mentions Baudrillard. Baudrillard!!! I hop to my bookshelf and eventually emerge gripping Simulacra and Simulation. Searching for the book, I run my fingers longingly over Jung’s Synchronicity and remember I’d given up on Derrida and suddenly feel bad about it. Also, sigh, A Thousand Plateaus. But not, perhaps, forever. Ancient past lovers and love notes.

It’s easy to get lost on the face of things: breakfast, dress, walk the dog, get in the car we’re late for school! feed the guinea pigs, pack lunch, should I go to the gym? why is this place such a mess? make a juice…wipe up dog puke (why would she eat a cloth napkin??)…

But visiting my bookshelf this morning, I remembered. The tightly packed ideas and thoughts followed all the way through, worlds sandwiched between all of these pages. The life I used to live, the realms I used to inhabit…I peer in wistfully, brew a cup of tea, and drop onto the couch for a morning of immersion in this shared language of love I forgot I miss so much. Lucky. Home.