Finding Alexandria in Atlanta

I've been reading Alexandria by Lawrence Durrell, and doing so has been the right thing to do. Somehow, this strangely simple book, with all its endless labyrinth of non sequiturs, strangely colorful visions of a city so dismal that all Durrell's poetry can't find any sparkle. The story weaves around the emotional entanglements of privileged citizens with enough time to find lovers and energy to devote to a sweaty ennui. And yet all the complexity is lost by individual moments of action that seem to clean up the mess for a moment, adding clarity, purpose to the story...but in some sense also making the story seem false. As a husband contemplates and sweats and hallucinates over whether to kill his wife's lover (or maybe her childhood rapist), I follow his thoughts and it all seems plausible...but the idea that such a contemplative would actually act, seems plausible but also silly and distracting. But then, perhaps the husband doesn't find the will to attempt the deed.

Regardless, it's a lovely book...and I find it more thank mildly inspiring to open my eyes a little wider and enjoy the view. That I have lost some perspective is an awareness that is increasing possessing my conscious thoughts. It has everything to do with my occupation. Perhaps I finally took my own advice and just stopped thinking (reflecting) on myself, on things, just simply noticing? But then I guess what worries me is that I am not "just noticing", I am not noticing at all. And as a result, I have no perspective...one has to view something from somewhere in order to have perspective. And perhaps most troubling (as reflected in the changed tenor of my sparse blog entries), everyday life (the quotidian) has stopped seeming so absurd and extraordinary.

Today's rule: to wait and see what happens.