It remained a bit confusing day. There was sun. Then I rushed to the balcony. But by the time I had arranged my reading chair in the warming sunlight, a cold wind came blowing in. The darkgrey clouds thickened and covered the sun. Well lets continue inside then. This happened a couple of times. But anyhow I could enjoy those warm sunny intervals. And feel some enlightenment finally coming through reading a difficult text. Written by a very clever and acrobatic but very impatient thinker.
He is one of these hyperintelligent academic writers that could be more influential by working at half speed and spreading more readingspace and oxigen between the Lines. We as readers - patient as we are - would really feel  enthousiastic. Now mostly we have to take in piecemeal in order to prevent exhaustion. I do not feel challenged to participate in a high-speed triathlon. Especially not when the writer happens to be an old friend in his eighties now. Of course it is of no use if I tell him that he may slow down at last. He has always been working  that way.
Now the problem with this kind of overachieving in writing lies there where his texts all aim at helping the reader in overcoming loss, working through trauma and mourning. And why can’t this work? Because we as heartfeeling readers are living creatures. We need to process, pause, work through bit by bit, interrupt, distract, digest and take in the next portion. How can I feel involved in reading a text written in great haste?
Or is that perhaps the unconscious message for this style of writing to transmit: before I die, I must tell you all this because otherwise my life would have been in vain. Is that what drives me to write this piece of journal? No, I don’t think my life would have been a fruitless waste of time, if I had skipped this notice. Just to spend my evening on the sofa and watch a romantic comedy. I could do that tomorrow evening perhaps. Good night to all of you.