I really don’t understand. On the one hand, you harangue and pester me about my deadlines. You harass me for things I haven’t done, telling me to get it done quickly. You give silly deadlines that don’t make sense to everyone. Yet, when I’ve rushed the work through nights and holidays, you refuse to deal with the work I’ve given, thereby proving that the deadline isn’t urgent at all. What am I supposed to think?

Teachers’ Day be damned. All we want is just to get on with our lives outside of work, not to be thrown into a morass of more work.

Advertisements

It was a warm evening, nearly summer, and she wore a slim cool black dress, black sandals, a pearl choker. For all her chic thinness, she had an almost breakfast cereal air of health, a soap and lemon cleanness, a rough pink darkening in the cheeks. Her mouth was large, her nose upturned. A pair of dark glasses blotted out her eyes. It was a face beyond childhood, yet this side of belonging to a woman.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s by Truman Capote

If one thing good had come out of the past twelve months, it was these sessions: of all her psychiatrists over the years, it was Byford who had brought her closest to breakthrough. So far this much was clear: Claire Malcolm was addicted to self-sabotage. In a pattern so deeply embedded in her life that Byford had suspected of being rooted in her earliest babyhood, Claire compulsively sabotaged all possibilities of personal happiness. It seemed she was convinced that it was not happiness that she deserved. The Howard episode was only the last and most spectacular in a long line of acts of emotional cruelty she felt impelled to inflict upon herself. You only had to look at the timing. Finally, finally, she had found this wonderful blessing, this angel, this gift, Warren Crane, a man who (she could not help but list his attributes as Byford encouraged her to do):

a) Did not consider her a threat

b) Did not fear or dread her sexualit or gender

c) Did not wish to cripple her mentally

d) Did not, at a preconscious level, want her dead

e) Did not resent her money, her reputation, her talent or her strength

f) Did not wish to interfere with the deep connection she had with the earth – indeed, loved the earth as she did and encouraged her love of it

She had come to a place of personal joy. FInally, at fifty-three. And so naturally it was the perfect time to sabotage her own life. To this end she had initiated an affair with Howard Belsey, one of her oldest friends.

On Beauty, Zadie Smith

So many feelings.

1. To see you lie next to me in blissful sleep, and being unable to take the same pleasure. The bliss of dreams, and the frown of worry.

2. To have you by my side, in cheerful and cheerless silence

3. To wake to the fear of failing, again, again, and again.

Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.

 

The Tempest, Ariel’s Song