Serious language

I take language seriously. When Sam and I had lunch together this afternoon at B&F, we had a great conversation with Matt about writing, of all things, and I enjoyed hearing him talk about the writing he's doing. He's serious about it.

Being serious about language (and about literature) means that I can be a little intense, and it means that I read carefully, as I've been trained to do, as I've chosen to do. When it's rewarding, it's really rewarding. 

But taking language seriously can isolate a person or distance her from others. For example, no one's supposed to mention book club to me. I can deal with that. It hurts only a little to not have the option to say no. 

It gives the clarity to see when others are trying to use language to occlude an issue. It's not a seeing through the occlusion; it's a seeing because. 

I'm facing the salient fact that many of Sam's friends are not my friends. Maybe even most. I knew that before. (How could I not when I typically take a couple of Klonipin before going out?) And now that I'm feeling healthier, which makes me more me, I'd like to have my own friends, people I see outside of the context of the group. Going to brunch or a wine tasting with someone is a good start. I just don't want to waste even more time with people whose eyes glaze over when I begin to answer the question, "So how's your work going?" 

So, here's some Wallace Stevens, king of alienation:

Anecdote of the Jar

I placed a jar in Tennessee

And round it was, upon a hill

It made the slovenly wilderness

Surround that hill.

The wilderness rose up to it,

And sprawled around it, no longer wild.

The jar was round upon the ground

And tall and of a port in air.

It took dominion every where.

The jar was gray and bare.

It did not give of bird or bush,

Like nothing else in Tennessee.