in search of lost time

the english translation of the title of a book written in french by marcel proust.
Proust's works were explained by, dare I say it?, a friend.. there.. that's it right there, a friend, called alexander mccall smith. yes the alexander mccall smith, the author, whose words bring me such relief.
How does he do it? I don't know. Maybe it is because there are no cynics in the book. and i cannot tell you what that means to me.
I worry a lot. about everything. about germs, about accidents. i have this great, huge, embarrassingly large fear of death.
I don't know what to do about it. and until then... i read.
coming back to proust, apparently, he is very good with descriptions. I havent read him yet. have you?

scold's bridle

sometimes people hurt others by an unintended or well-planned verbal attack.
I have been the victim of many, mainly because I take everything personally. Thin skin. Everythign gets through and doesn't heal until I cry for a fortnight, buy something expensive and decide to get a dog.

I cannot explain what it is i feel when someone is rude. Why does it hurt? I know it isnt a fair world, then why do i persist in willing it to be so?

I wish I could tell them, the way they tell me, what my current state of mind is, but it never comes out, and if it does, it shouldn't have because I end up sounding infantile and pushy.

But, I have to get this out in a public space, the bathroom is not such a sacred space, since I believe that my neighbours can hear me. Yes, everything. For a year now.