A woman’s life is defined by fantasy and sadness
Marguerite Duras once said something like: a woman’s life is defined by fantasy and sadness. If there is anything I have learn this summer it is that. I live in the downstairs room in my girlfriends grandmother house for the summer between college quarters. I pass my time writing, reading and I should admit watching TV, hanging out with my girlfriend when she is not working. I’m quite and like to keep to myself in my downstairs hideout. Everyday, mostly when my girlfriend is at work, a storm moves upstairs. My girlfriends grandmother is a fire of a woman, living in a constant fantasy about the world around her. She oscillates between two juxtaposed states both of which is only as deep as the moment she is in. She tells me the weirdest stories about people living in the center of the earth, about some vitamin miracle cure or how she can’t get the remote to work. Not like a crazy person, not wild and out of control, but with a conviction and enlightenment. In these moments she believes she understands a deep truth about the world. In her fantasy she is a part of a singularity, a oneness, which moves through all of us. In others moments, in her very human moments, I see she is very sad and alone. She realizes her actions have all but chased away her two child, who she had once abandoned. Her husband has died who she believe would life for ever. She knows she is only a human being which will died unhappy and unsatisfied. That all her believe are more like wishes than truths. But isn’t that true of all of us.
