Let me preface these remarks with a disingenuous apologia. The following entry concerns itself with a characterisation of myself that I concocted during a smoko at work this evening. I found myself in a moment of self-understanding that can be of interest to no person but myself. And yet I am pestering you with it. To what end? Never you mind. While you may inwardly groan at the prospect of a tiresome tale of 'self-realisation', (a favoured euphemism, I grant you, for 'self-aggrandisement' or 'self-delusion') let me take this opportunity to remind you that this is a blog, and more tellingly, that this is my blog, so pontifications of this sort are only to be expected. Thus, I am pestering you with it for the simple reason that I can. So there.

Now on to the remarks, which I will entitle A characterisation of self; distilled during a smoko in which Elanor's usually distracted imaginings about, and musings on, herself, latched onto a point of focus. Let me preface these remarks also, this time with a disclaimer. I cannot locate the source of this sudden musing. It came unbidden, and, as far as I can ascertain, was not prompted by any subconscious percolating of any recent interactions or events. It just seemed to me that suddenly and without warning, there were apt words, and they were whispering themselves into sentences. I had a random thought, which was "I find myself uncomfortable making claims on people". It was followed by a "Why?" And then the whispering happened. Thus, "I find myself uncomfortable making claims on people because I doubt that my experience of others is necessarily commensurate with their experience of me. I don't find this to be an incapacitating doubt. It simply exists. And I think it has the happy effect of precluding me from jealousy in favour of tolerance, or forbearance."

It is a strange thing, to so prevaricate with 'prefaces' and the like, to so create anticipation and expectations of reward, for such a thing as that. That is a whole new kind of wordy. And, yes. Fine. I promised a thought that concerns only myself, and I delivered it, so I had to expect that the whole exercise would be anti-climactic. But it is almost hilarious that, despite all the hot air I blew into the build-up, it never occurred to me that there was never much 'in-your-face realness' or 'blisteringly powerful truth' to a declaration of self that ends with the word "forbearance". Anyway, although it might lose some of my esteem for it in its re-telling, this explanation of myself makes me very happy. It makes me feel like I have a fair and healthy appreciation of what goes on between people; one that encompasses doubt and rejects irrationality. It also makes me happy because I like an awareness of doubt. I respect it. And I especially like to think that I have an awareness of doubt. So I really like the idea that the happy and rancour-free situation of my life is indebted to my appreciation of, and my trust of, a doubt. I find it all heartily flattering. But then, I concocted it. So any troublemakers are perfectly at liberty to propose and support other contentions as to why I find it distasteful to make claims on people. But I rather like this one.

Oh dear. This blog entry has been utter shit. In his novel Experience, Martin Amis makes a criticism of some other writer that I think could be equally directed at the above debacle. Amis writes, "his compulsive self-criclings, I felt, were stifling his energy and his comedy. Something was missing: other people". Were I a man, this statement would perfectly upbraid me for the horror that I have made of this blog entry. Perhaps it is even too salutary a criticism for the lowly likes of me. Anyhoo. I will henceforth endeavour to make my blog entries about some person or thing, so that such galling crap as this will never again be visited upon you. Let us never speak of this. Sincere apologies.