Un dimanche, and a self-indulgent, self-involved post. Or not: it starts out with consumerism, yet ultimately it could be a psychoanalytic post.

The weather is pleasant today and I could suffer less than I do. I have paid off a card and so in shopping news I ordered jeans and a bag, that I needed, and decided to buy glasses, that I need, and all of these things are for work. I have also located a bicycle, although I cannot afford it until next summer.

I have decided against a desk or a chair for the foreseeable future. I have further decided that I am in a phase of disliking to write and I need a pomodoro. (No, I do not, because it ticks — and I invented that “technique” before it was marketed, anyway — I should just start to do it and be  bullet-biter.)

I dreamed this morning of my mother. I asked her why she wanted me to do nothing for myself and nothing for her, yet not to leave her side. She said that what she needed was for me to stand within her line of sight and look wise.

That would be quite something for a psychoanalyst to study. I am thinking about my major in college, chosen because it was a compromise between my own interests and the family’s. I needed a major that interested me and that they would not be abusive about or hurt by. Later on I could do another set of degrees, chosen in absolute freedom, I thought.

And this has never been quite possible, but something like it may become possible one day.

My favorite book is Go Tell It On the Mountain. This is a reason to reread it and discover new reasons why this is my favorite book. I know it is because it is the book that always comes to mind when people ask what books are important to one. Today, when answering that question, I said the additional books I wanted to read were by Braudel, Fromm, Huizinga, and Marx.

That gives an idea of my actual major, perhaps, although not a complete one.

I want to read. I want to finish this paper so I can get back to my real project. That I have this thought is exciting.



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