It seemed to me that this was my life; and that from the age of eight I had to keep constant watch on myself or else I would disappear, my consciousness would simply disappear from that time and place and go walkabout – and this would get me in a lot of trouble, particularly at school.
And now look! I’ve gotten (see? I’m not against all Americanisms) myself into a situation. I have a family, I have responsibilities. How can I be a time traveller now?
And it seems to me that life is like this: just as Proust had to tell all his separate selves that Albertine was dead, so I have to gather up all my separate selves and somehow get them, like an unruly crowd, together in the same space (this is hell – there are so many of them and they keep wandering off) and then we can all move on together. Not to mention my family. As they say in “Chicken Run”, “this is about all of us”.
And I’m experiencing my life as a chicken run at the moment – the things that I used to enjoy, to find nourishing, now seem to me like chicken feed: this broad highway with so mny avenues to explore now seems like a chicken run, and the avenues have all turned out to be stalls where chickens sleep and lay their eggs, waiting for death. I see traps everywhere.
I guess I’m lucky I don’t have some kind of multiple personality disorder.
Mmm. I feel another post coming on.
2 thoughts on “On time travel”
Sorry to be bothering you but I am sitting here and reading your posts, and laughing and giggling and nodding my head, and I think you should use this in a novel?
perhaps not, but I certainly think you can write and wonderfully wittily so, and I shall come back to your website and before you know, the people in Leningrad will be complaining about their planet heating up.
Thanks for posting Cecile – it’s great to hear from people. I’d like to hear more about your novel and how you got an agent interested – keep in touch!