This is from my sketchbook from late October, early November.
On November 23rd I noted a few lines from a book I found at the library on the $1 Shelf: Memories of My Melancholy Whores by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I saw myself in the first one.
I discovered that my obsession for having each thing in the right place, each subject at the right time, each word in the right style, was not the well-deserved reward of an ordered mind but just the opposite: a complete system of pretense invented by me to hide the disorder of my nature.
This one I attributed to someone else:
I appear generous in order to conceal my meanness.
And then this one was me in spades!
I am conciliatory in order not to succumb to my repressed rage.
I checked into the exact meaning of "conciliatory" and read "bringing about harmony; propitiating." And when I checked into "propitiating" I read "gain favor by appeasement; atoning sacrifice."
Holy cow--the story of my life!!