Listen to us talking. We’re not talking about essential things, are we? This isn’t important – not to you. All this is a diversion. It’s keeping you from your work – your true work. What you were put on earth to do – isn’t that right? Your purpose …
This isn’t going to last. This isn’t going anywhere. It’s not like you’re paying attention. You’re listening with one ear.
I like to listen. I like to watch you.
All the things we say when we should be talking about Proper Things, she says. What are Proper Things, philosopher? What’s really worthy of our concern? What matters most to you, philosopher? Isn’t that what philosophy’s about: what matters most? So what does matter? This? You and me, sitting here? Something else? What else?
I’m here to torment you, philosopher. I take my role seriously.
What if you actually succeeded at something, philosopher – what then? It’d be a shock, wouldn’t it? It’d be the world’s greatest surprise.
I get very philosophical up here. I ask a lot of questions. Is that the same thing? I’m talking … asking questions. You should write about questioning, philosopher … Am I bothering you with my questions, philosopher?
You’d like a silent, enigmatic mistress, wouldn’t you?
You know what: you’re not sharp. You’re inattentive. You don’t notice things. You don’t see the things I notice. You don’t see what I see. All the things of the world. You don’t look at people, do you? You don’t wonder about people.
People, philosopher – don’t you think people are interesting? Or are you sick of people?
Actually, I’m the one who should be sick of people. Our dinner guests. The people we go to the pub with.
I thought you were into people.
I’m bored with our people – my husband’s people. They’re all older than me. They’re all in a different phase of their lives. They getting divorced now. They’re bored of each other. Disgusted with each other. They’re splitting up from boredom. It’s a warning, I say to my husband.
And what does he say?
He doesn’t say anything. He thinks he’s safe.
Work in Progress 