Metaphors & Misc.
Events, feelings, have been happening. My thoughts have been confused, haven't felt much like trying to put them down. Will there ever be conclusions. . .
At work, we've been pulling books for storage. I find books published in 1988 that sit on a shelf until someone in 2002 decides to check one out. I could read this a metaphor for my life. Waiting on shelves. Just another facet of information preservation and management, I suppose.
Last Saturday, my dog Biscuit. . . died. She was my companion since 2nd grade, when we got her as a puppy from the Humane Society. Strange to think that when I move back home she won't be there anymore. When I was preparing to go to college, my grandmother died. . . .It seems like most of the transition stages in my life are marked by some kind of death.
Wednesday: interview with the board of the Cresson Library. It could have gone a bit better. It could have gone a lot worse, I suppose. I couldn't tell if they were willing to seriously consider me or not. I'm supposed to hear either way by the end of the week. . .it's the end of the week, though I haven't heard anything from them.
I seem to feel wonky a lot lately.
I might meet work people at the Squirrelcage tonight, though I feel guilty for spending $6 on one bottle of ale at the Sharpedge last night, not to mention going out to Hemingway's (er, during work. . .heh) Tuesday. I don't really need to spend anymore money.
I'm trying to be less avoidant regarding social situations. It's hard. It is hard to reenter a place within a group. It is hard to see oneself as others see me.
'[O]ur social personality is a creation in the minds of others. Even the very simple act that we call "seeing a person we know" is an intellectual one. We fill the physical appearance of the individual we see with all the notions we have about him [sic], and of the total picture that we form for ourselves, these notions certainly occupy the greater part. [. . .] as though the latter were only a transparent envelope that each time we see this face and hear this voice, it is these notions that we encounter again, that we hear' (Proust).
I've begun reading Swann's Way.