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I had another one of those 3 A.M. fear sessions, that feeling of my heart being literally squeezed, choked, and having a difficult time breathing, as though I might even be somewhat close to having a heart attack. Worse, there is a real fear of actual damnation, eternal damnation, that what I have done with my life, or, perhaps more aptly, what I have not done with my life, is among the worst of sins - God's greatest gift squandered, tossed in the trash like so much garbage.
It is unusual that I should have one of these so soon after the last one. Generally, I seem to have these mortal terrors once or twice a year. Maybe my old age is speeding up the pace of these. I am 52. Time is about up. I don't know how I can be redeemed now. Am I supposed to rush to Whataburger and beg for a job? presuming that this is the only sort of place that might, just maybe, give me a chance. I am not going to be turning in a novel or essayistic book to a publisher. Nobody is going to put me in a suit and make me a consultant or Think Tanker or anything, or run me for Congress. It looks like I am just going to have to play out my string, the sorry little thing that it is.
Unable to go back to sleep, I did just that: I hit my books hard. Before I turned in for the night, I had been playing with the idea of going through my books, starting with "Lolita" and red-marking them for quick quotes and excerpts, not to post in my blog or write out in my notebooks, but just to be able to readily get back to them and read them directly from the source page, for those nights when I am desperate for some literary soul food and lack the patience or the ability to read through whole books, when I just want to get to the surefire gold right away that enables me to lose myself in graceful prose and elevated dreaming.
It is a project for my off-hours: the evenings and the post-lunch woozy hour before my afternoon nap. It should be easier for me thanks to the fact that these books are already marked up from my book-blogging and quote-hunting of years past. I will simply pick out the best of the best. I will also have to shelve these books better for quick and ready access - in case of emergency, break glass!
It is unusual that I should have one of these so soon after the last one. Generally, I seem to have these mortal terrors once or twice a year. Maybe my old age is speeding up the pace of these. I am 52. Time is about up. I don't know how I can be redeemed now. Am I supposed to rush to Whataburger and beg for a job? presuming that this is the only sort of place that might, just maybe, give me a chance. I am not going to be turning in a novel or essayistic book to a publisher. Nobody is going to put me in a suit and make me a consultant or Think Tanker or anything, or run me for Congress. It looks like I am just going to have to play out my string, the sorry little thing that it is.
Unable to go back to sleep, I did just that: I hit my books hard. Before I turned in for the night, I had been playing with the idea of going through my books, starting with "Lolita" and red-marking them for quick quotes and excerpts, not to post in my blog or write out in my notebooks, but just to be able to readily get back to them and read them directly from the source page, for those nights when I am desperate for some literary soul food and lack the patience or the ability to read through whole books, when I just want to get to the surefire gold right away that enables me to lose myself in graceful prose and elevated dreaming.
It is a project for my off-hours: the evenings and the post-lunch woozy hour before my afternoon nap. It should be easier for me thanks to the fact that these books are already marked up from my book-blogging and quote-hunting of years past. I will simply pick out the best of the best. I will also have to shelve these books better for quick and ready access - in case of emergency, break glass!
