This is a positive step. Progress. A year on and I want to get back on track, as it were. Although I'm still a tad nervous and anxious. Somewhat normal, methinks. In view of the fact that the last time I ran, I ended up in hospital.
But yesterday I saw an ad for a 5k/10k run. And felt the need. The need for speed. Or a gentle jog, at least. I have only ever run a 10k race once. I collapsed at the end and was very poorly for a few hours afterwards. Which kind of killed the achievement of finishing. And in a fairly decent time too.
Maybe I should take the hint... But I can be a stubborn ole bird. That said, today I can’t think of that race without feeling bad. Really bad. Similar to how I felt about To the Lighthouse many moons ago. When I finally finished it. And hated it. I fear this is what I will feel about Mrs Dalloway from now on.
Closing the book finally this morning, I felt kind of empty. Disappointed. Unfulfilled. I did finish it. Which is something. But I pulled and dragged myself through. And collapsed in a heap at the end. So the achievement was most unsatisfactory.
I just didn’t get it. I feel like I’ve let myself down. How does one not like Virginia Woolf? It feels like a failing. Have I missed something? My neurologist says that I appear to be slower than most. Referring to my recovery, of course. But maybe his words cut closer to the bone than I imagined?
For me, VW's sentence structure felt stilted and jarred. Commas everywhere. Clauses falling over one another and backing up. Nothing flowing. Progressing. No direction. Destination.
Then the characters. Well, they generally felt stilted and jarred too. They left me cold. Their self-possession. Superficiality. Clinging to a past well parted, but much regretted. Although outwardly appearing satisfied with their lot.
Such self indulgence. Such egotism. The well-to-do busying about their vanities. Perceiving the world from a safe distance on high. Alluding to issues and calamities in a world far from their existence. Issues and calamities easily swept away in the folds of green satin and lace of a party. Even suicide is just an unpleasant intrusion to all the beauty and grandeur of the evening.
And thus my uneasy relationship with VW remains, well, uneasy.But onwards and upwards. I feel almost eager to get to Kafka now. To try something new. To be energised. Although much can change in the space of a few days…