The Write Thing

I promised myself I would not talk about The L Word in this posting. However, this week’s episode of the fifth season of the series pushed me to break my promise. Actually, I am writing this because I had the title for the posting long before the words I wanted to use. I am not sure if the show is known by whoever may read this post one day, but the line of the main story that is resuming importance this year has to do with Bette Porter and Tina Kennard. These two women used to be in a long-term marriage (they never got married, but that’s a technicality), but grew apart throughout the seasons. In Season 5, much to the delight of a bunch of followers, they are finding out all is not dead between them. Bette has started a relationship with someone else, whereas Tina has gradually come to terms with her own insecurity and is now a free woman (still in love with Bette). The title of this posting has to do with the personality type the character of Bette was given. I have been doing intensive research on Alpha types but there is nothing much online to rely on. So, I said to myself, I’ll have to depend on Bette. However, Bette has now also put herself in touch with her own insecurities, those of a Type A personality. It’s odd, but she now seems mellow, as opposed to Tina, who has decided to take life in her own hands.

Personally, I’ve always felt closer to Tina, we may share some ways of being. With this season bringing us closer to the voyage of these two characters in the amniotic fluid of rebirth into new beings, I realize we may have a personality type to display on the shop window, but we are bigger than that, more complex and, as such, more fascinating.

Uneven feelings…The English language has a suitable combination of words to express love that is not shared equally between two parties. The English speak about unrequited love. I find it quite to the point, actually. Visual Thesaurus has the definition as “not returned in kind”. Interestingly, this would take us to look up kind in the process, only to realize that the word actually puts substance of equality to the enterprise that fails.

In the same week, two things happened. I sent her an email with five sentences that looked more like coordinates describing what was going on with my life, leaving a question open for answer of a similar nature at the end. No answer has come yet. Obviously she does not have enough time to occupy her mind with those who may love her truly. She never has.

This morning, somebody asked me to return her love in kind. But I could not…

This week, I am reading Felisberto Hernández, and revisiting a recent short story I wrote. It could be significantly shortened, I think.

I have decided to put the following motto in action: mens sana in corpore sano. Not sure if I can make it through to the end though, but have resumed spinning lessons after a while. I’m pretty happy about it in all. Yesterday evening I did another class, and took one of the books I’m reading at the moment with me. I normally do that while I wait for the instructor to arrive and as I get in line to make sure I can climb on a bike and actually do the class. Classes tend to be pretty crowded now that many people have returned from holidays, so you have to be prepared. All this introduction is in fact to speak about my readings right now, particularly a book about Virginia Woolf (are you surprised?). It is called Virginia Woolf, An Inner Life and was written by Julia Briggs.

The book is very revealing both of Woolf’s writing process (something that biographies, essays and other Virginiabilia have covered extensively) and also of the life surrounding her. I have only started my reading, but I have enjoyed the story behind The Voyage Out immensely, and now I am rediscovering Night and Day in a new light. I have long suspected that the universe connects to us through what we love. Personally I have that feeling with books. When I come across a book I can’t help buying, I feel as if life has taken me there by some crazy erratic action. It did with Briggs’ book. I was walking along the streets of Rome and I entered the Feltrinelli International bookstore. There the book was, waiting for a new reader to take a peek at Woolf’s through other eyes.