À la recherche du temps perdu

I have a lot to be thankful for in life. I know that. But sometimes, especially at night, I still fixate on those few things that I can't have or don't have yet. It's silly, but I guess I'm still not the fully formed woman I'd like to be yet. There are times when I am thankful for the girlish side of me - girls have a lot of hope. But other times, I wish that part of me would know when to quit. I am tired of feeling deficient because I cannot live up to all the expectations that my optimism creates.

Oh well. At least I'm old enough now to know that whining and sighing doesn't change the world (but it does help me feel a little bit better - vent vent vent!).

A passage from Swann's Way (I hope to finish the entire book by the end of the year):

"I feel that there is much to be said for the Celtic belief that the souls of those whom we have lost are held captive in some inferior being, in an animal, in a plant, in some inanimate object, and so effectively lost to us until the day (which to many never comes) when we happen to pass by the tree or to obtain possession of the object which forms their prison. Then they start and tremble, they call us by our name, and as soon as we have recognized their voices, the spell is broken. We have delivered them: they have overcome death and return to share our life.

And so it is with our own past. It is a labour in vain to attempt to recapture it all: all the efforts of our intellect must prove futile. The past is hidden somewhere outside the realm, beyond the reach of intellect, in some material object (in the sensation which that material object will give us) which we do not suspect. And as for that object, it depends on chance whether we come upon it or not before we ourselves must die."

Perhaps I have too many such objects?