I’m still in a bit of a posting slump here. I had a restful, quiet weekend, but the nuisance of chronic fatigue is that it does love to get hold of viruses and then refuse to let them go. Most of the time now I feel much better, but give me the common cold and suddenly I’m weary and headachy, slow and dull-witted. Anyhow, I’ve been reading some good books that I’ll tell you about when I’m more in the mood. For the time being, here’s a picture of the sofa I work on, barricaded in on either side with reference tomes. I find it very snug. As you can see, I also have company. Hilly is very much my cat; she runs away from most people, most of the time, but once I’ve sat down she will come and pester me for attention, which her general behaviour forecloses meaning she builds up quite a deficit. Yes, she has attention deficit disorder in an entirely different sense of the term. Or to put it another way, she didn’t invent neediness, she just perfected it. I rarely get five minutes to myself before she has leapt up and is headbutting my elbow, a favourite way of demanding some affection, and one which seems particularly attractive to her when I have a cup of tea in my hand. Still, eventually we make up on some of her backlog of needs and then she will settle down and sleep stretched out against my thigh in a way that would have pleased Colette immensely. Colette was a great believer in the power of sleeping animals to infuse calm and creativity into the writer. She doesn’t mention that it’s also a great way to get a dead leg.
Research has slowed at the moment as I’m picking away at rewrites, a process I once read described as like cleaning a tiled cellar floor with a toothbrush. But shortly I’ll be returning to my work on dreams. I read an excellent chapter by Winnicott the other day in which he differentiated fantasies from dreams by saying that the former take individuals away from their lives, leading them down paths of dissociation into isolated clearings of wishes and fears, whilst the latter are essentially integrative in character, attempting to knead the events and emotions of the day back into the morass of lived experience. I liked that.
Well, more soon once I’m feeling a bit livelier. I’m certainly enjoying some wonderful comfort reading, nothing to do with mothers whatsoever, which is making a very pleasant change for a while! I’ll review Simon van Booy’s The Secret Lives of People in Love, Clare Chambers’ The Editor’s Wife and Anthony Capella’s The Wedding Officer next time I’m here.