Let the Night in.

Statue of Tyche, A.D. 2nd century, Istanbul, Archaeological Museum

I deleted all the apps off my phone and only use desktop and that has seemed to help tons with habitual scrolling, but I still feel as though I could be doing more.

i’ll level with you, i am not doing good right now. sick with grief, stressed out about life changes, just feeling on edge & chased by sadness. so i am seven books behind on my books for the year (and I was several ahead!), trying to read four books and barely getting anywhere. scrolling on my phone has a magnetic, malevolent hold on me right now. it feels horrible. I can see myself from outside my body sometimes. it makes me feel insane; i know i am in dystopia. bent over my phone like everyone else i see. so i am going to implement my regiment again, right now

the first thing is to think of your phone as your enemy. basically, you’ve been given the greatest gift of connection and source of information, but at the price of the seconds/minutes/hours of your one life. that is what it is. like all people bearing cursed lexicons, we have to scheme to get the greatest benefit with the least amount of cost

i remove all apps, set draconian time limits on all websites (5-8 min a day), someone else has the bypass code. i become excruciatingly aware of how much i want those minutes & how quickly i use them. the blocking apps in my phone malfunction & i don’t get any time that day and i sit with how that makes me feel. if i need to, i go to my (fucked up) laptop. i do this for 2-3 months and then get a few months of reprieve. but isn’t it horrible it always happens again anyway?

my phone should be for communication, necessary/useful information, and writing down my thoughts. it’s good to have fun with it also, but i am not having fun right now.

i also leave my phone in the other room, or in the car, & try to carry a book with me or just look around

Mariotto di Nardo Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence

MOYERS: As I listen to you talk about the liberation of motherhood and love, I find all the more incredible Sethe’s willingness to kill her son—

MORRISON:: Oh, yeah.

MOYERS: —Rather than let the slavecatcher kidnap him. Was that a far-out figment of your imagination to make a dramatic point, or did you find in your research into the past there were mothers willing to do that?

MORRISON:: That was Margaret Garner’s story. There was a slave woman in Cincinnati named Margaret Garner who escaped from Kentucky; arrived in Cincinnati with her mother-in-law. The situation was a little different; I think she came with four others. And right after she got there, the man who owned her found her. And she ran out into the shed and tried to kill all her children, just like that. And she was about to bang one’s head against the wall when they stopped her. Now, she became a cause celebre for the Abolitionists, because; you see, they were trying to improve the situation a little bit and get her tried for murder, because that would have been a big coup, if they had gotten her tried for murder. Because it would assume that she had some responsibility over those children. But they were not successful. She was tried for the real crime, which was stolen property, and convicted and returned to that same man. But what struck me, because I didn’t want to know a great deal about her story because there would be no space for me to invent — was that when they interviewed her, she was not a mad dog killer, she was this very calm, you know, in her 20s, woman. And all she said was, “They will not live like that. They will not live like that.” And her mother-in-law, who was a preacher, said, “I watched her do it, and I neither encouraged her nor discouraged her.” So for them, it was a dilemma. This is a real dilemma. “Shall I permit my children, who are my best thing, to live like I have lived, and I know that’s terrible, or to take them out?” So she decided to kill them, and kill herself. And that was noble. That was the identification. She was saying: “I’m a human being. These are my children. This script I am writing.”

MOYERS: Could you have put your — did you ever put yourself in her position, and ask—

MORRISON:: In the writing of the book, yeah.

MOYERS: —could I have done that to my three sons?

MORRISON:: I asked it a lot. As a matter of fact; the reason the character Beloved enters is because I couldn’t answer it. I felt just like Baby Suggs. I didn’t know whether I would do it or not. You hear stories of that in slavery and Holocaust situations, I mean, where women have got to figure it out fast, I mean really fast. So the only person I felt who had the right to ask her that question was the child she killed.

MOYERS: The child.

MORRISON:: And she can ask her: “What did you do that for? Who are you talking about? This is better? What do you know?” Because I just — it was, for me, an impossible decision. Someone gave me the line for it at one time, which I have found useful, is that it was the right thing to do, but she had no right to do it.

MOYERS: And you’ve never answered it in your own case, “Could I do it?”

MORRISON:: I’ve asked. I don’t know.