I have sunken into futility, hopelessness and inaction that must be the characteristic void of our times. I promise myself to read Huellebecque's Submission first thing after my arrival in France. I start to believe the alternative Islam or masturbation, so provokingly sketched by the writer, may be indeed a pertinent definition of something.
But at the same time, at the very bottom of everything, hope, aspiration, and action sprout somewhere deep in my heart. The will of change. And also the sense of harmony. I have been reckless in my youth, and bore all the burden of culture and milieu, and committed humiliating mistakes. I lived with a man at 23, and at 28 (not the same man). I tasted betrayal, and worse, silence at breakfasts and scheduled sex on Saturday mornings. At 35, I started to dream boldly, and aspire for luxury, travels, exoticism and romance. I got more than other women, as I believe, not only in flights and expensive hotels. Also a bonus of harmony. I have been married for 15 years now, that's rare. I experienced the specific taste of ups and downs, the high and the low, mountain torrents and lowland rivers, the patience of being with someone all over the years, of having memories to recall. At 48, I start to dream boldly again. Perhaps it is only a logic of growth that has led me to those new crazies. And what could that be, to dream boldly for a woman of 48?
It often crossed my mind that I might be with someone, a European, a Dutch man with something of his own. That after 15 years or more, I could live with a man again. The prospect makes me hesitate, nonetheless, and it certainly has no such power to make me run. Live with a man, how, where? If I'm in Paris for only 10 months now. Certainly, I could use this time to settle down. To get a partner for my house in Leiden. But these are not the crazies of 48. Perhaps of 58, or 68, but not 48, not yet. Their time will come.
Certainly, it might be a reasonable prospect, to settle down at 48. But it is totally opposite to the desire of my heart. I do not wish to be reasonable, I never did. ---Oh, no? And who became a university professor, after all? Well, it is a different story, we speak of eroticism now. But there might be a reasonable eroticism, as I think about it now. Perhaps my own eroticism has always been reasonable, i.e. efficient. Achieving its targets.
And as I think about it now, that bold dream of spiritualisation of eroticism might be a reasonable prospect of 48. A logical next step. New adventure. The rest, perhaps. is just reading Huellebecque and masturbation.