Finishing

I do get too hung up on completing things. It’s a need for order, I know. To wrap things up, to get things done. To feel satisfied, at peace with myself. And yet, I so often don’t, not till long after. I always remember the character Edith Hope in Anita Brookner’s Hotel du Lac bathing and changing her clothes after spending a day writing, made grubby by the work. I usually feel the same when I put away my work for the day, that same slight sordidness of not quite doing it well enough. The feelings of childhood linger. Never being good enough. Yes. Always. And with each piece of work I long to feel that. Perhaps I don’t know how to. Order helps. It is on the surface only, how can it be otherwise? The world is disorder. We do our best in our small ways. And mine is even smaller. I don’t mind. I have much to do. To try to solve. And there are wonderful compensations. Though they too seem small, though they are not.

Trevor’s short stories captivate me. I watch my own life as I read. It’s the detail he captures that enthralls.

Much to do today. All those little pieces to pull together. More anon.