Swimming Past the Flotsam

Happy New Year everyone. I stayed strong on not stalking over the holidays.... for the most part. I had a couple of weak Google moments, and just today I re-opened my FB avenue... and quickly thereafter permanently deleted it. Turns out I had just deactivated it before. At any rate, I've been reading a book by Margaret Atwood called Cat's Eye, and I wanted to share a short passage I came across last night. This really rang true for me... today was just a day of getting stuck in some flotsam while swimming along.

From a section of the book where the narrator talks about her ex:

"Now that I'm more or less safe from him, and him from me, I can recall him with fondness and even in some detail, which is more than I can say for several others. Old lovers go the way of old photographs, bleaching out gradually as in a slow bath of acid: first the moles and pimples, then the shadings, then the faces themselves, until nothing remains but the general outlines. What will be left of them when I'm seventy? None of the baroque ecstasy, none of the grotesque compulsion. A word or two, hovering in the inner emptiness. Maybe a toe here, a nostril there, or a mustache, floating like a little curl of seaweed among the other flotsam."

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