I have to work harder to see and understand the pattern of what is
tumbling in my mind or I will eventually drift into utter madness

then Maria will be alone . . .

Eight years ago when the breakdown was complete, the doctor told me
firmly and almost in a nasty tone that I had had one foot in true
madness already. I knew that. When one's persona is shattered, and
one is speaking gibberish and lacking in luicidity, there is for

small self awareness -- a bit of persona left -- that is watching in
horror as the rest disinegrates. A by product of this cracking up

that I lost knowledge I had once had. As I got better it did not

back. Total memory loss of a storehouse of knowledge, thought, and
work, from the ten years previous. I have been running -- almost
desperate -- no truly desperate -- to re learn and/or recall ever

. . .

So, now I have ordered a good critical edition and will teach the
tragedy over to myself once more. No one (except ASD) need know of

motive, or how it smells of a bit of twistedness, or at least low

esteem. I simply need BACK the woman I lost, and part of that -- a
large part -- is the knowledge that died and became lost to a person
who lost all cogency.

I am tierd of the fight -- the inner fight. I am not Rocky. And the
self-focus is disgusting.

Rosena (terrified of slipping back to gibberish)

I have to work harder to see and understand the pattern of what is
tumbling in my mind or I will eventually drift into utter madness and
then Maria will be alone . . .

Eight years ago when the breakdown was complete, the doctor told me
firmly and almost in a nasty tone that I had had one foot in true
madness already. I knew that. When one's persona is shattered, and
one is speaking gibberish and lacking in luicidity, there is for some a
small self awareness -- a bit of persona left -- that is watching in
horror as the rest disinegrates. A by product of this cracking up was
that I lost knowledge I had once had. As I got better it did not come
back. Total memory loss of a storehouse of knowledge, thought, and
work, from the ten years previous. I have been running -- almost
desperate -- no truly desperate -- to re learn and/or recall ever since
. . .

I taught John Oresteia. He had never heard of the tragedy before I
taught it to him. It is a deeply troubling and profound myth of
suffering into light, of the way the Furies are tamed, and vengeance
becomes ordered moral punishment. But, truth?? It was one of the
things that was lost. I cannot recall its lessons or text with any
concentration of thought, or detail. It is -- in effect -- as lost to
me now as it was to him before I taught it.

Now he is teaching it in his History of Punishment course which is
essentially a literary philosophical course covering Scripture, Greek
tragedy, Dante, and other great works that speak to inflicting pain for
wrong. What upset me the most in learning this is not him really --
but all all that was lost because of him.

I can't let it be in the sense that now he "recalls" Oresteia and I
cannot fathom it. It makes the sense of the world topsy turvy and
tragically sad -- to leave that as a written line on the page of life.

So, now I have ordered a good critical edition and will teach the
tragedy over to myself once more. No one (except ASD) need know of the
motive, or how it smells of a bit of twistedness, or at least low self
esteem. I simply need BACK the woman I lost, and part of that -- a
large part -- is the knowledge that died and became lost to a person
who lost all cogency.

I am tierd of the fight -- the inner fight. I am not Rocky. And the
self-focus is disgusting.

Rosena (terrified of slipping back to gibberish)

I am tierd of the fight -- the inner fight. I am not Rocky. And the
self-focus is disgusting.

Rosena (terrified of slipping back to gibberish)