The foul stench of failure

Who would say this would be my problem to deal with this year, as a Tribal Wife?! That this would be the kind of work I would have to share with the other wives of the tribe?! Certainly, there was plenty of failure and stagnation in Lisbon, but somehow I never felt it was touching me personally, that I was involved in it in any way. I never put my hand to it. 
Now I see - again, or sharper than any time before - all the difference, the gap, the abyss, I'm not sure how I should call it. And the twofold necessity: firstly, to see this difference, gap and abyss, and to understand that the failure is not my destiny; to see its tragic spectacle cathartically (how was it in Blumenberg? The Zuschauer who sees the Schiffbruch while standing on the firm ground?). Secondly, to be able to isolate myself from it, radically, seeking other people and other destinies.
All the foul stench of failure that my skin might have caught, all the foul stench of failure that might have ever been in me must be transpired now. The moment is to sweat by all my pores. 


I stick to my own CV like a draft in the high seas. This is what my life has been, what my path has been, all my choices are somehow inscribed in it, encrypted, but in permanent ink. Some details may be omitted, some aspects accentuated or shown in a stronger light, but overall that's me. It might not be the most complete CV of an international scholar ever seen, but it's a solid base to go on, a room for improvement. And for one thing, I never costed in vain, I never spoiled thousands and thousands of euro for nothing. I see a treat of Dutch respectability in myself, and I stick to it.