Steps backward

I caved in over the weekend and agreed to see K, who pestered me with phone calls and pitiful tones. We made an effort, and it was somewhat pleasant to hang out with him. But ultimately not. There is no passion, no chemistry. This is an odd thing, since he is ruggedly handsome, tall, muscular, blond, blue-eyed. But he has absolutely no interest in me, there's no heat under his skin. Kissing him is like kissing a doll.

We went out for beer yesterday afternoon and got rather drunk. I passed out in the car on the way back. When we got home, we got into an argument. He accuses me of deliberately blackening his name, which is complete nonsense. I had only repeated to him what one of our mutual friends had told me--gossip about how he came on to another woman while still dating the woman he was cheating on his wife with. In other words, I called him on the fact that he was a three-timing bastard at one time in his life. I was hoping that he'd tell me it wasn't true. Instead of denying or admitting it, he turned on me. So we argued and he left and I called up S, who came round and took me out for another short one. I asked him to spend the night with me. He didn't. Just as well.


The real issue, of course, is the book that I'm thinking of abandoning. This project that has chained me to my desk for the last ten years, this leg-iron, this albatross, this dead animal. I don't know what to do about it. Do I walk away? What then? What kind of job will I look for? What do I want to do with the rest of my life? What matters to me, about what am I passionate?

I don't know how to answer these questions.

I don't even know how to talk about it right now. I just ran into an acquaintance in a coffee shop, who asked me a lot of very direct and personal questions. I ended up telling her straight out that I'm not going to get tenure because the book is not done. She commented that I seem surprisingly calm about it.

I suppose I am, but I think the calm comes more from shock than equanimity. I've spent the last ten years of my life feeling burdened by this book, attached to this book, to this career, and the last seven years at this institution. Even though I've been ambivalent about the work and have been talking about leaving academia for years, I haven't actually had to face the prospect head-on before. It's a good thing, I suppose, but it's a difficult thing. We get so attached to the paths we're on, and the hedges on either side grow so high, that we can't see anything but the path, however dull and parched the ground is, however acutely we understand that we need to find more fertile ground and a broader view