Monday, January 12, 2026

       On my morning walk on the deck I hear the frantic squawking crows. They are restless, moving through the trees and the sky.  I look for a hawk but do not find one.   The only other sound is the roar of traffic. From the freeways.

     A quote by Roland Barthes, “you are the only one who can never see yourself except as an image.” This quote came up in a NYTimes article about THE PITT’s star, Dr. Robbie. It feels so true, I can’t see myself clearly.  I keep looking particularly now, having the role of a sick person, home bound.  What does that even mean.

     And what is performance in life, acting out some ideal.  I struggle with this in the medical world. Am I acting like the good patient or the smart patient or the problem patient.  I shift back and forth while the medical person is shifting in their roles. No wonder it is so confusing.  My goal is to be authentic, to live with this body and not some made up body.

     I am now settled into rereading the 1974 novel, THE DISPOSSESSED by Ursula Le Guin. I met the author at a writing program, FLIGHT OF THE MIND, decades ago.