Short notes to my nemeses.

Dear Jacques Derrida,

So: we meet again. You, who have so affected the way I think about almost everything. You, whose critique of ideas like nature and transcendence and essence and meaning--everything that feels normative--constantly disrupts my thought. You, whose prose goes a little something like this:

For my part, although these two interpretations must acknowledge and accentuate their difference and define their irreducibility, I do not believe that today there is any question of choosing--in the first place because here we are in a region (let's say provisionally, a region of historicity) where the category of choice seems particularlry trivial; and in the second, because we must first try to conceive of the common ground, and the differance  of this irreducible difference. Here there is a sort of question, call it historical, of which we are only glimpsing today the conception, the formation, the gestation, the labor. 

Jacques, I owe you an intellectual debt. We all do. But dude. Your writing.

I'm sorry, but it's so hard,

htms


******

Dear Monday,

Not to be all cliched about it, but Monday, you are making me feel a little bit anxious. I feel like I have three things to do that all have to be done by 8 a.m. And that makes me wonder how I'm going to do the other things that have to be done before the things that need to be done by 8 a.m.

What do you think I am, Monday? a morning person? by which I mean a super-powered-robot? Well I'm not. I'm just a human being that has to get up, eat something, wash her hair, get dressed in an acceptable outfit, get her new key for her new office, finish boxing up some dubious files and personal items &c &c &c before eight a.m.! Too much, Monday! Too much!

(breathing now, slowly breathing):

htms