My life happens, and I’m not even on it.
Yes, ON it.I can relate to Richard Bach in his book Running from Safety.Have you read Bach?On page 167, he speaks of Publications Division telling him where a comma might belong.He then says, “If I were writing on my own, there’d be no one to stab me with commas.Commas, would, go, exactly, where, I, darn, well, wa,nted t,h,e,m to go,!”
The rules of grammar on prepositions would require that I cross out ON for a proper IN.Yet, I choose to think of life in reference to motion, or more appropriately, vehicles in motion.Not like some enclosure where I have to be IN.As for “proper,” only society defines that. And I’m its iconoclast.
I told Neil Gaiman during his book signing here in Manila that my life happens—the world is turning—and I’m not even on it.I said, “I become Richard Mayhew, feeling like a nonperson.”And lifting a line from Neverwhere in which Richard is the protagonist, he scrawled, “mind the gap” over his autograph as a response. (Hey b, that’s equivalent to saying, “ be wary,” or “take care.” I prefer the latter, of course).
I’m not quite sure if I may allude to this particular state as something parallel to your “social and professional weightlessness.”
Several mornings ago, I woke up feeling like a college student whose thesis was way overdue.Anxiety loomed as if the rest of my peers had breezed through their defense and gotten their A’s (although in my University, that would be a 1.0), as I stared at a blank screen devoid of any word or letter or punctuation.Imagine that.
It seems, everything is happening all at once, and I stand here—because with or without much effort on my part, I remain in this black hole—in my vacuum, almost a nonentity.I can’t seem to catch on.
My friend Judith said it’s called lucid interval.And what with my never-ending love affair with psychology, I cannot recall having encountered the concept. Lucid dreaming, yes, but not lucid interval.Well, at least now, it has a name.
Judith’s lucid interval, your weightlessness, and my vacuum sound similar.To say that it’s just a matter of semantics—like we used to do in school just to settle a debate—is an easy excuse really.Dissecting vocabulary and grammar in this manner gives me a headache not any hangover can punish me with.
I know that that Ph.D. research grant will bring in the “early apples” you’ve been deprived of for some time. And as I write incoherently, someone is finally ON his life.