Of the entanglement and the laissez-faire

Modifié le : 2019/07/26

Every­thing that accu­mu­lates in our lives, but above all every­thing that we drag behind us, like a ball and chain at the end of its chain.

I watched a doc­u­men­tary about fat peo­ple who must absolute­ly lose weight if they want to hope to stay alive. There was that huge British woman, intel­li­gent, suc­cess­ful in her pro­fes­sion­al life, in love with her part­ner, but who could­n’t help but eat through some kind of com­pen­sat­ing mech­a­nism. When you gain six kilos a year, you end up look­ing like a bal­loon too heavy to fly. She over­came every­thing, it was nice to see her beau­ti­fy her­self, regain a taste for life, to see her cou­ple reborn, her part­ner encour­ag­ing her, etc. A good dose of TV pos­i­tivism. So, we com­pare our­selves, we tell our­selves that, some­where, we are fat in our heads, we accu­mu­late, we eat to avoid see­ing things. Where are our mis­for­tunes ? What are the defense mech­a­nisms used ?

I’m not fat, I’ve been plump before. I have already had mon­ey, but now I have no more, the busi­ness is rather unsta­ble, and my bud­get short­falls are painful­ly felt. I tend to con­nect the dots. To this accu­mu­la­tion of small mis­takes, tiny for­gets, easy idle­ness. My case is far from hope­less. Yet watch­ing this doc­u­men­tary brought me back to the lack of dis­ci­pline I have on var­i­ous aspects of my life and pushed my thoughts on what I could write as my next novel.

The idea of accu­mu­la­tion, sed­i­men­ta­tion, the slow ero­sion of defens­es, these small frag­ments in the win­dow of our feel­ings, these tiny frus­tra­tions, this stream so weak, but stub­born, which flows through our veins and sculpts the canyons. This sud­den fault caus­es the ice­berg to col­lapse, the land­slide, the implo­sion of a star.

It’s as if I had to have dif­fi­cul­ty to move for­ward, as if I had to be trou­bled to push myself beyond my lim­its, as if I had to become obese to get healthy again.

It may take some time, but you end up run­ning out of breath. It is so not worth it.

I’m con­fused. That’s prob­a­bly a good thing. Actu­al­ly, I’m still con­fused. It may not be treatable.

One day at a time, as we used to say to the fat lady. She took it lit­er­al­ly. On the first day, she was made to climb a 27-sto­ry tow­er and she suc­ceed­ed. They had to prove to her that she could do any­thing. One step, then, at a time. Carpe diem. Like slaves, per­haps. That’s what we say to the poor, isn’t it ? To be patient with them ? To persevere ?

To grow and fail, a form of rebel­lion ? Anger ? Denial ? And this human­i­ty that lets itself go, why did Nature make it so ? Why so care­free ? These days, that is a ques­tion on every­one’s lips in Que­bec. But we can quick­ly gen­er­al­ize. To be sat­is­fied with eat­ing chips of lit­tle joys instead of work­ing to get back to the sim­plic­i­ty of living ?

It is already late today. It’s not ten o’clock yet. For this Moth­er’s Day Sun­day, it will rain. It does­n’t mat­ter. Moth­ers have seen oth­ers. Me too, and I have to keep work­ing to put but­ter on my bun.