It popped into my head, walking back, almost 5 in the morning, from the Indian Muslim place, the thought I'd had in my mind for a time a while back. That just like a character in Nella Larson's Passing can say that sex is a cruel joke, I felt that education, at least the education I was afforded, and the promise that was promised, was very much like a cruel joke.
I have a bad habit of taking back statements after I say them - I suppose it's my way of mitigating myself - a personality trait that makes me seem to disavow myself. To be sure statements are not meaning and discourse is not sincerity or feeling, and there is always that portion of existence that quite rightly could do what Jane Campion did in Holy Smoke (BE KIND), but roundness should not be forced like a brick. You really wonder if confrontation isn't.
But maybe a food diary would be less of a *downer* - I even annoy myself when I do that. It's really not about escaping or evading or circumscribing meaning, it's perhaps about conveying extents. Compromise would then be the dirty word.
