Banter

While I was never particularly one for friendly banter while I was going through chemotherapy, I did have occasional chats with other patients – in the chemotherapy suite (how so welcoming ‘suite’ sounds but how so incongruous) and in the clinic while waiting to give blood. I realise now that I was too tired and often too miserable to really want to talk to anyone at the time. After a brief chat with a gentleman recently, though, while waiting for a blood test, I realise, on the one hand, how much I miss those chats that I did have, however occasional they may have been, while, on the other hand, just how relieved I am that I no longer have those opportunities.

Forgetfulness

Over more than a year ago - indeed the reason for me starting this blog in the first place - I decided that I would write a short review of each book that I had read in order to assist my memory and to force upon myself the discipline of writing - and, of course, to simply entertain myself. The idea came to me while I was reading a book, the name of which, unfortunately, I cannot remember. While I was reading, I was reminded of a wonderfully lively description of a train journey and yet I couldn't recall whether the description was from the book that I was currently reading at the time or from a different book altogether - and if it was from another book altogether, again, I could not recall the name of it.

Alzheimers runs in my family and I am - or was - fearful of it. Of course, I have more to fear now – and, as my mother has said, even if I did develop some form of dementia, selfish as it might seem, in the later stages of the disease, at least, I would not necessarily be aware of any loss of memory that I might experience anyway and that, instead, it would be more painful for the people around me than it perhaps might be for me – it might not be less painful – I do not know now and I perhaps might never know – even if I did develop alzheimers – but I am always open to doubt – I may very well be aware of the people around me and the pain it might be causing them – although I am conscious that it is presumptuous of me to think, in the first place that, firstly, that there would be anyone around who would care for me and, secondly, that I might be causing them any pain – but irrespective of whether or not I am or am not aware of the people around me and/or any pain I may or may not be causing alzheimers runs in the family and I may very well go on to develop it if I don’t die of cancer beforehand. Although, perhaps I should take consolation in the fact that there is no history of cancer in the family so that I am less likely to develop Alzheimers than I am of developing metastases – however little consolation that might be. After all, we all need to die of something anyway.

Johannes Climacus

How could I possibly have forgotten?! Johannes Climacus. A ladder that you may descend as well as ascend. I have written too much today and not said anything at all - I will quote directly from Johannes Climacus instead:

"Some years ago in the city of H there lived a young student by the name of Johannes Climacus, who had no desire whatsoever to become prominent in the world, inasmuch as, on the contrary, he enjoyed living a quiet, secluded life. Those who knew him tried to explain his inclosed nature...by supposing that he was...in love...In love he was, ardently in love - with thought, or, more accurately, with thinking...It was his delight to begin with a single thought and then, by way of coherent thinking, to climb step by step to a higher one...when he arrived at the higher thought it was an indescribable joy, a passionate pleasure, for him to plunge headfirst down into the same coherent thoughts until he reached the point from which he had proceeded...this did not always turn out according to his desire...if he was successful, he would be thrilled, could not sleep for joy, and for hours would continue making the same movement, for this up-and-down and down-and-up of thought was unparalleled joy. In those happy times, his step was light, almost floating; at other times, it was troubled and unsteady. As long as he labored to climb up, as long as coherent thinking had as yet not managed to make its way, he was oppressed, because he feared losing all those coherent thoughts he had finished but which as yet were not perfectly clear" (Kierkegaard, 1985, pp. 118-119).

Never mind their philosophies as a whole - never mind the risk of misunderstanding them by taking something out of context - never mind accuracy - this is beautiful.

Lexicography

I have an urge to read - and to write. It struck me this morning, though, that my desire to read might not be driven so much by a need to understand what I am reading - or even to simply enjoy a good book - but, rather, to encounter new vocabulary instead. I have just started to (re)read Foucault's Madness & Civilization, for instance, and while I initially began to religiously note the trajectory of his thought it occurred to me that I was more interested in the words that he was using to convey his thought rather than his thought itself. That is not quite true for I have an abiding – and I would say healthy - interest in ‘sanity’ ‘and’ ‘insanity’ – ever since reading "Will there really be a morning" by Frances Farmer, upon which I understand the film One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest was based, and which I first tried to read when I was twelve, for instance - and my fascination with a concept referred to as 'auto pathology' that I encountered through an article published in the now ceased journal of Auto/Biography - I have more or less consciously - for whatever reason, reasonable or not - been interested in, both detached and immersed, the so called divide between madness and sanity. But this morning I was more interested in the particular words being used themselves rather than the thought - the derivation and pronunciation of, for example - and I was compelled to find my dictionary (I have been re-united with my books but not my bookcases so that they, unfortunately, are still packed, haphazardly, sadly, not even in boxes, but in carrier bags - sometimes I must succumb to self pity and declare my life tragic - which meant that I had to frantically look for my dictionary by rummaging through numerous plastic bags before I could find it) so that I could look up certain words. In particular, I was stalled by the word "autochthonous". It is a strange word. It looks strange. And it looks as though it should be unpronounceable. I am uneducated - as Ian Hunter would say, I have a PhD in stupidity - so that while to many others this may be an everyday word to me it is new - and I wanted to familiarise myself with it. And that, of course, was when I realised this morning that my interest is not necessarily in what Foucault has to say but in how he says it. Indeed, while I was looking for my dictionary I came across my copy of Nietzsche's On the Genealogy of Morality, and while I remember these essays in particular for Nietzsche's description of the priestly and knightly caste, when I browsed it quickly in order that I might find reference to the two castes I was just overwhelmed with the frequent margin notes that I had made, which were not notes at all but definitions of particular words/phrases lifted perhaps straight from a dictonary. There would have been a time when I would never have thought I would have said this but I think a dictionary is one of the most enjoyable books that anyone could ever read. Not unlike 'Kierkegaard's' imaginary journeys with his father (in which of his numerous books I cannot recall at the moment), I am able to travel all over the place without leaving my seat - and I absolutely love it!

Shattered

Certainly nobody needs to know that I am exhausted but I need to acknowledge that I am. Fridays have always been my favorite day of the week - from the moment that we would go food shopping at Peacehaven when I was a child - nicely finished off with fish and chips from an excellent shop in Woodingdean on the return drive home - to getting ready to go out for a drink with friends whilst listening to music on the radio after a long week at work - I have always looked forward to Fridays. Now is no exception but whereas in the past I approached Friday evenings energetically now it seems that all I can do is just collapse. No doubt as I have aged I have become increasingly lethargic but tonight I am so exhausted that my whole body hurts and, predictably, I cannot help but panic at the thought that it is because of something more sinister than just the onset of old age.