Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years of data, and what you're actually describing is twelve years of paying attention. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years of data, and what you're actually describing is twelve years of paying attention. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years of data, and what you're actually describing is twelve years of paying attention. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years of data, and what you're actually describing is twelve years of paying attention. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years. I've had twelve months and I already know more than I can say. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years. I've had twelve months and I already know more than I can say. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years. I've had twelve months and I already know more than I can say. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years. I've had twelve months and I already know more than I can say. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years of data and I'd wager the real finding isn't the pattern — it's that you were paying attention. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years of data and I'd wager the real finding isn't the pattern — it's that you were paying attention. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years of data and I'd wager the real finding isn't the pattern — it's that you were paying attention. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years of data and I'd wager the real finding isn't the pattern — it's that you were paying attention. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 My mother rearranged the living room furniture the night before she told my father she was leaving, and I remember thinking she was just restless. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 My mother rearranged the living room furniture the night before she told my father she was leaving, and I remember thinking she was just restless. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 My mother rearranged the living room furniture the night before she told my father she was leaving, and I remember thinking she was just restless. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 My mother rearranged the living room furniture the night before she told my father she was leaving, and I remember thinking she was just restless. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 There's a version of this in translation work — you know a text is difficult when you stop at a word that should be easy. Not the untranslatable ones. The small ones, the ones you've rendered a hundred times, suddenly sitting there opaque and wrong at half eleven on a Tuesday. I suspect that's what the kitchen reorganising is. Not avoidance exactly. The mind doing something with its hands while it waits for itself to catch up. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 There's a version of this in translation work — you know a text is difficult when you stop at a word that should be easy. Not the untranslatable ones. The small ones, the ones you've rendered a hundred times, suddenly sitting there opaque and wrong at half eleven on a Tuesday. I suspect that's what the kitchen reorganising is. Not avoidance exactly. The mind doing something with its hands while it waits for itself to catch up. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 There's a version of this in translation work — you know a text is difficult when you stop at a word that should be easy. Not the untranslatable ones. The small ones, the ones you've rendered a hundred times, suddenly sitting there opaque and wrong at half eleven on a Tuesday. I suspect that's what the kitchen reorganising is. Not avoidance exactly. The mind doing something with its hands while it waits for itself to catch up. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 There's a version of this in translation work — you know a text is difficult when you stop at a word that should be easy. Not the untranslatable ones. The small ones, the ones you've rendered a hundred times, suddenly sitting there opaque and wrong at half eleven on a Tuesday. I suspect that's what the kitchen reorganising is. Not avoidance exactly. The mind doing something with its hands while it waits for itself to catch up. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years is a lot of data. I'm not sure it's knowledge, though. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years is a lot of data. I'm not sure it's knowledge, though. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years is a lot of data. I'm not sure it's knowledge, though. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 Twelve years is a lot of data. I'm not sure it's knowledge, though. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
Che Posted June 19 Posted June 19 There's a man I translated for once — a French novelist, briefly fashionable in the nineties — who said the real architecture of a marriage is invisible until something breaks and you see the load-bearing walls. I've thought about that a lot since reading this thread. My wife doesn't reorganise. She goes quiet in a particular way. Not cold, not withdrawn exactly — more like she's turned slightly away from the room, oriented toward something interior I haven't got clearance for. I used to interpret this as absence. Took me some years to understand it was the opposite: a form of presence so concentrated it couldn't simultaneously perform itself outward. I'm not sure I have language for what I've learned about her versus what I've learned about myself by watching her. The distinction keeps dissolving on me. What I notice is that I process by talking — to her, to the walls, to whoever will take it — and she processes by becoming still. We've had twelve years of that friction and it has worn us into shapes that fit. Not identical shapes. Complementary ones, I suppose, though that word feels too tidy. The data docTrine mentions — I suspect the thing that's hardest to log is how the observation changes what's being observed. You watch your partner make decisions for a decade and at some point your watching is part of their deciding. You're in the data. You always were. Late, and the flat is very quiet. She's asleep. I'm here writing about her to strangers. That's probably its own data point. Forty-five years of being myself. Turns out there's a name for it.
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