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Progress | Nov 30 2002

I re-read the end of the above. In doing so, it struck me that what I say is wrong. I didn’t really break out of my prison; that’s going too far; but I did at least make some progress. Ah, unfortunately this reminds me of something G would often say. G had only limited use of his arms and legs. This was awful of course, an awful way to live, and yet G, perhaps to make it more bearable, would always insist—and truly believed, I think—that he was “making progress.” Thus he would show me how he could, say, open his hand a certain amount, and I would be forced to say something like, “That’s great, G,” although it seemed to me that I had seen him open his hand this amount a thousand times before.