In one diary I read (another of my obsessions: women's diaries), the writer confessed to a terrible reluctance to change, any kind of change. Lots of people don't like to move from a familiar house or city or job, but those are major changes and unwelcome to many. But this diarist said she has trouble letting go of anything, that is, of the present moment. Whatever she's doing, she doesn't want to stop. I do that, too, to a certain extent. I can be horribly, obscenely tired, groaning with the effort to stay upright, splitting my face with yawns, needing a wake-pick to prop my eyelids open, but still I stay where I am, trying to make sense of life. Like right now. It's getting late and I have been writing all day, having started a countdown on an assignment (self-assigned) to finish something by the end of the month and here I am, not only trying to stay awake but also trying to write a blog. How stupid is that? I've mentioned before, R.D.Laing's idea that we all behave as if in a state of post-hypnotic trance left over from childhood, and my question whether we were/are ever really conscious of what we were/are doing. Memory plays a role here, both long-and short-term. (Can you remember what you ate for lunch today How about yesterday?) Memory and consciousness go hand in hand, well, they don't have hands, but you know what I mean. So if I'm as sleepy/tired as I think I am, am I going to remember what I was doing/thinking tonight tomorrow? That messy sentence is on purpose, I think. I really have to go to sleep. Let go.

It's been a while. I've been away, and busy, but I'm still here, and thinking. If there are any new readers, welcome, sorry to have neglected you. You - well, the blog - are in my thoughts every day now. "I must tell BLOG that," I think. I guess the thought is as good as the action, but of course, it's not. So here's a little quicky: Shortly after Angelina Jolie made world-wide news with her announcement, Brad Pitt dropped a newsy item I saw on TV. He has prosopagnosia. well I didn't know he had it but I know what it is and I know how to spell it. Oliver Sacks has it; so do I. Prosopagnosia is face blindness, the inability to remember a face. You know the line, "I don't remember your name but your face is familiar." Well, if you can't remember the face, the name is no use at all. This weakness can be very embarrassing. After Bill and I moved to Stratford, everyone wanted to meet the new administrator of the Festival and there were lots of parties. At one party I went up to a woman and said, "Hello, I'm Betty Jane Wylie," and she said, "that's the third time you've told me this week." Oops. I didn't remember her face. It can be worse. I was negotiating with a new publisher about a book and the managing editor and publisher took me to lunch, so our meeting lasted over a couple of hours, long enough, you'd think, to learn a face. Later, I talked to the editor over the phone and then when I met someone in the hallway of the company's office, I referred to talking to so-an-so and she said I am so-an-so. I hadn't remembered her face. Oh dear. I simply lack the ability to face-map. There's a poem by C. Day-Lewis (father of Daniel) that begins: "Different living is not living in different places/But creating in the mind a map." I cannot create in my mind a map of the faces of the people I meet. I have to wait until I meet a person several times, or else until I am horribly embarrassed by my disability. So if you see me on the street and I don't speak to you, forgive me. Next time, maybe.