This orange booklet was actually supposed to be a diary. But it is, maybe in part. Waking up in the hope that the congested bronchus and abrasive throat, accompanied by periodic fevers and sweats, would be over, I experienced my first disappointment of the day.
Disappointment connects this morning with a straight line to last night, when, during a brief phone call with Jess, my pent-up frustrations escaped from my ailing body. After 17 years together, after 9 years of marriage, I still don’t know why I let myself go completely with Jess – in a Freudian way I could dismiss it as intimacy – and besides, or by extension, what signal, what tone or word combination allows Jess to completely dissolve my self-image, leaving behind not only something that is useless, but that also lies in the way, like a dead rat on a ship.
Hmm… let’s revisit Freud then.
After 17 years together, after 9 years of marriage, she has become my mirror, which I look into and the reflection she gives me is clear and honest and unchanged. Without Jess I wouldn’t know myself. But, at least until this appeared on paper, we were both unaware of these roles. And maybe the light will shine brighter if I don’t force this role on Jess.
Emme comes to me and I get a spontaneous hug.
Written on July 3, 2019