I am missing my unreasonably irrational self. I am missing the making. Sure I like the reading Judith Butler, Plotinus, Benjamin and Barthes, even Bonaventure (just because he is so clear), and I may be ready to dip my feet into some of Merleua-Ponty's Phenomenology where the body and mind aren't so split. But I need my body! My mind needs my body. I'd like to find time to work out my thinking in real space not just with mental mutated movements. I've a hankering for cutting a sewing some rubber. Besides when I actually engage my pig-pen producing body, I always sleep like a baby. All this heady stuff and sitting on my bum all day and into the night reading makes sleeping a new challenge. If my brain isn't working the data, it is fretting whether I can cut it. Dang. I know I can cut rubber. I need me some production and a tad less scholarly spectation.
Yes these are my hands--working some rubber that was especially greasy. Why dirty makes me infinite happy, I don't know. perhaps in plato's words it is that I give my self over to excess and defect. My body and mind are an integral system and it is all limping along as I am over embedded in the head.
I need my hands with some time so they can go back to looking like they did six months ago; i need my arm muscles to not go all girl on me.