As I turned the page to part 3 of 2666 (The Part About Fate) I thought back to when I used to wonder if my life would take on some sort of stucture like a book. Would my story have parts, chapters, or would it be one long Anita Brookner novel. It was looking like the latter, but just when you think you’ve got a handle on a certain way of being, thinking, living, seeing, something happens and the rug is pulled out or pushed away.
That moment reading a book, when you turn the page and it’s blank, the next page says part___: That is where I am. I am in the whiteness. The blank page.
I spend an inordinate amount of time talking myself through the void. Just trying to get my mise en place on the counter so that I can get some plan or recipe going…but what do I want to make? I can get so involved in a conversation with myself that I don’t hear anything around me. I don’t think I talk to myself, but I do gesture to myself, which may be worse.
“if you’re worried that you’ve lost your mind, don’t worry, you haven’t, all you’re doing is having a casual conversation.” Roberto Bolaño 2666
Sometimes I do wish I would shut up however; be “etherised upon the table.” This may be why I really enjoy my (online) statistics class. With absolutely no previous indication of any sort of affinity toward maths, I find it quite relaxing. A break from myself. I don’t love math, I just like the hijacking of my brain. I’m internally confident in my other (on site) classes, but every time I speak or answer the questions in class my face burns. The only anxiety I have in statistics is in regard to our semester project whereby we have to do a statistical study of our choice. I have chosen to take a survey on the amount of books read by students at the college in the last 12 months; I don’t know what I was thinking because this will require that I actually have to talk to people, my fellow students, to collect the data. Shit. If only it wouldn’t be ridiculous to distract them from my awkwardness with a brownie or a bowl of gnocchi.