Rambling semi-sleepy semi-nonsense

Say what you want to about David Foster Wallace (A man who happened to be a writer who also had nothing to do with me) - and first of all, I will never play Devil’s Advocate for anyone. The devil has enough advocates. I’d rather be the devil’s devil. Got it? Maybe not? Okay.

People have said “things” about him - ranging from “he was brilliant” to “he was abusive/other shades of terrible, blah blah.” I don’t know enough to have a fleshed out opinion. I always wanted to tackle Infinite Jest just so I could “say I did.” Dabbled in something people said was difficult/genuis. Still, there is a part of me that thinks we’ve heard enough from white men… so why try?

So now that I’ve gotten some of that nonsense and skepticism out of the way - I’ll shoot out my point. I spent some time (once again) watching some interviews of him this weekend. I do that sometimes. It’s interesting to watch interviews with artists/celebrities/any person where their souls leak out at such an obvious and uninhibited rate. And frankly, it’s rare. Some say these interviews are painful to watch because he sounds so self critical. I find it relatable. I connect to it. I too trip over my words, doubt I’m making sense, always feel as the picture just isn’t what I want it to be. I second guess my connections with people all of the time. Why?

When one has dealt with depression (not that that’s a litmus test per se) or - I don’t know, any of the oddly specific set of circumstances which I’ve corn-mazed through, one never sees the same sky as others. Or the same sun. Its not the same world. I am different. I have always known I was different even before all of that. Maybe deeper - maybe stuck. Both? I am NOT better. Smarter than some - obviously there are many smarter than me. Does any of it matter? What am I even asking when I say that?

I guess I talk about myself because I have no kids to lose myself in (thankfully, at least in my case.) I have a privileged woman’s access to the world, and I usually recognize that I only speak for myself. Obviously there are current spiraling orange horrors unique to the US political climate.

What is this entry even about? Maybe nothing, but at least it isn’t an advertisement. At least I’m not trying to sell you anything. Stupid influencers. Golly gee, let’s all interact with commercials now and make that something to aspire to. Make our lives an even cheaper yet expensive void filler.

Yet I can’t lean into disgust and forget the rest. And I don’t mean “staring at mountains.” There is still empathy and caring - there are still flashes of connection and understanding with others in my life. Even if they are incomplete. I have no answers. I lean into moments and memories. Or try to. I’m trying. I’m living. I have a cat with radiant green eyes that purrs and scrunches up to me sometimes very closely, very intentionally, as if she can’t bear to be separated from me in those moments.

I see too much and yet it is enough. Enough to make me strong. If I didn’t have some brains and this vantage point, I wouldn’t have survived this long. Or if I had, it wouldn’t have been worth it. And it is. Somehow.