Refacing The Defacement

Trying to remove a sticker from a book, I began taking off part of the book's cover with it. This destructive act, though minor, activated a neurotic impulse of futile discontentment. I flattened the sticker to resume the appearance of aesthetic integrity, but I knew that my destructive act had left a festering sore underneath. There was no objective reason for this to bother me but subjectively it did. I had defaced to achieve some imaginary purity and retreated to another illusion of purity upon failure. I felt like the man who had removed the collar from his wife's neck only for her head to fall off. He could put the head back in its place, but beneath the collar the torso was permanently severed. Even if the rest of the world never found out, he would know.

I tell this story for several reasons. Mostly because it is true: such minor displays of personal incompetence really do disturb my mental equilibrium. Eventually it will be restored but to hasten the process I've decided to write about it. Writing about it helps because it makes the act seem retroactively justified. I can bring meaning to a meaningless act by supplying my own meaning through words. This will stand as a lesson to the future in case something like the defacing incident should happen again - and it will. The damage cannot be undone but it can be redeemed if it inspires a creative act more positive than the damage was negative. Writing this is my way of making the regret obsolete. A minor piece of writing for a minor action to be sure, but representative of a principle I must believe in.

By writing such a facile anecdote down I immortalize it as a warning. This warning is entirely self-directed but if anyone else finds any worth in it that is a bonus. Weakness can be redeemed through the very act of seeking redemption. Festering sores that only fester in your mind can only be solved through your mind. By writing I gather my thoughts, and these thoughts are a product of the creative, outward-directed side of my mind. The destructive, inward-directed side of my mind would rather keep the sore festering by poking at it with subtle reminders. In order for the objective to defeat the subjective, I must make the subjective objective by writing it down. If this redeems what I have done it is redemption. If not, I'd rather go down verbally flailing than shut my mouth by swallowing my own tail.