Writing the 75th piece of my journal entry makes me a little nervous because it’s supposed to be better than the first one.
It seems like R and I cannot disconnect. Last time he told me that he lost his interest in philosophy, but now he says that perhaps some questions should be left to philosophers because science cannot know the answer to everything, and he appears enthusiastic.
Once our conversation starts, it goes on and on. Why do I ask questions? Because I have questions to ask. Why does he answer them? Because most of the time he has the answers. It’s a simple give-and-take relationship. The only problem is we are of different sex, and if things go wrong, I mean, if we develop some kind of relationship other than friends or a teacher-student one, it may not look too pretty.
At least I know my pattern now: I always throw myself at him when I feel the most confident. When I feel confident about my writing, I think I can do whatever I want because it’s all about my art, and I start to do what I did before. It’s a self-destructive behaviour pattern.
I have no idea what R thinks about me at all, but I guess he cannot help himself when it comes to helping me, because philosophy is his speciality.
If I let myself be a writer, I won’t be afraid of anything. Being a sincere writer is a way to live freely, yet, like everyone else, a writer needs to be responsible for her own actions.