14 June 2010 -- Staying In
My old friend Michael, a painter, called me the other day. We've been
friends since we were troubled teenagers in and out of loony bins, morosely
drinking and drugging away our days, and pretty much given up on by everyone.
Michael and I talk on the phone now and then to giggle with astonishment at the
way we've managed to arrange our lives so that we find ourselves doing what we
want — painting, writing, getting on with it quietly. "I don't speak to anyone
all day long. I go for a walk every day, then work, and it's all in silence,"
he said, delighted with his achievement. "Same here," I said. "But I only go
out once a week."
Michael gasped at the level of my accomplishment.
It's not merely silence I want, but uneventfulness, and continuing
uneventfulness at that. I have a rush of wellbeing if I see a blank week in my
calendar. An appointment during the week darkens it, and gnaws away at me in
the background of whatever I'm doing until the event (even a pleasurable one)
is over and done with. You can call it neurotic, or what you will, but
reclusiveness works for me.
From The Sunday Times, June 6th 2010
- Jenny Diski
descensus Averno facilis est