It's been a week now. And I'm doing pretty good. I really wanted a sandwich today - warm bread, melted cheese - comfort. It's cold again. Wet and windy and cold. And I want warm comfort.
I finished the most beautiful book last night. The Elegance of the Hedgehog. It's about a 54 year old, lumpy, unseen, unknown, unheard, concierge of an apartment building in Paris where the apartments are huge and old and grand, handed down from generation to generation. Renee is happy to be invisible because the people she works for could never comprehend the complex person she is. And she sees beauty in delicate camellias, well made tea and cookies, Japanese art films, and Dutch masters.
"Human longing. We cannot cease desiring, and this is our glory, and our doom. Desire! It carries us and crucifies us, delivers us every new day to a battlefield, where, on the eve, the battle was lost;..."
Writing like this makes me desire to write and slays me on the battlefield because I don't know if I'll ever be able to write like that. But I cannot cease desiring. It is my glory, and my doom.