"It seems to me that we may stop here"
One of my favorite conversations to date was the time that Jon, Drew, Jason and I sat around and discussed our favorite punctuation marks and what that said about us as people.
I picked the semicolon. No other punctuation even comes close to this guy; he holds such a special place in my heart. (I had to throw that usage in just there; it seemed appropriate).
...Okay, I'll stop.
Anyway, the analysis of my semicolon love produced two ideas. I :
a. Love connectedness in all areas of my life
b. struggle with closure.
This is very true. Both of these things are true.
I just finished reading Dostoevsky's Notes From the Underground. The book is written in the voice of a bitter character who finds fault with much in life. At the end of the book, the narrator, or the "underground man" as he is often called, makes a decision to reject love (the one thing, in Dostoevsky's mind anyway, which might save him and redeem him) and then continues with his rambling judgment on life. These writings are finally cut off with this note from a fictional "publisher":
"the notes do not end here, however. He (the underground man) could not resist and continued them. But it also seems to me that we may stop here."
I love, love this ending. Because this ending is a reminder to me that sometimes, you just have to cut something off, cleanly, neatly, with a few short words, just a little note, and say, (despite your incredible need for connectedness and your struggle with the idea of closure):
You can't have my heart in this situation anymore. I can't give anymore of my heart-energy. Or, in words more eloquent:
"it seems to me that we may stop here."
I picked the semicolon. No other punctuation even comes close to this guy; he holds such a special place in my heart. (I had to throw that usage in just there; it seemed appropriate).
...Okay, I'll stop.
Anyway, the analysis of my semicolon love produced two ideas. I :
a. Love connectedness in all areas of my life
b. struggle with closure.
This is very true. Both of these things are true.
I just finished reading Dostoevsky's Notes From the Underground. The book is written in the voice of a bitter character who finds fault with much in life. At the end of the book, the narrator, or the "underground man" as he is often called, makes a decision to reject love (the one thing, in Dostoevsky's mind anyway, which might save him and redeem him) and then continues with his rambling judgment on life. These writings are finally cut off with this note from a fictional "publisher":
"the notes do not end here, however. He (the underground man) could not resist and continued them. But it also seems to me that we may stop here."
I love, love this ending. Because this ending is a reminder to me that sometimes, you just have to cut something off, cleanly, neatly, with a few short words, just a little note, and say, (despite your incredible need for connectedness and your struggle with the idea of closure):
You can't have my heart in this situation anymore. I can't give anymore of my heart-energy. Or, in words more eloquent:
"it seems to me that we may stop here."