For example, when I say that I suspect I’m not human but some other form of life living in a human body, I’m not entirely joking. When I say that a woman crept into my heart ten years ago and her ghost lingers there still, stubbornly resisting all attempts at exorcism, I really do accept the fact however ludicrous it seems even to me. (Sometimes I see her eyes looking at me; I see no other part of her, just her eyes.) And did you know that I detest the Id? Deep down I find sex disgusting, the desire to eat and drink a sign of weakness, and the need of supportive companionship offensive. So what do they offend exactly? The higher mind, of course. My relationship with my Ego is one of reluctant tolerance, but the only part of my psyche which I consider worthy of the effort to take seriously and develop is the Super Ego.
Could that be why I feel like an alien, I wonder? Or am I – as my highly esteemed friend Maddie from Upstate New York avers – just another deviant who doesn’t fit in with the culture I’ve been saddled with?
And are you going to stop reading this blog now?
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Meanwhile, the leaden clouds of disturbance and change are gathering and growing by the day, and even the weather is riding over the hill like Blucher to swell their ranks. Today has been cold, windy, wet, and laden with gloom. My mood tonight is worse than sombre.