"My desk is the monument to my mind, and by the appearance of it, my mind must have intimate contact with garbage collectors."
— O'Connor, Flannery (1925-1964)
Work Title
Date
1944; 2018
Metaphor
"My desk is the monument to my mind, and by the appearance of it, my mind must have intimate contact with garbage collectors."
Metaphor in Context
January 31, 1944
My desk is the monument to my mind, and by the appearance of it, my mind must have intimate contact with garbage collectors. I don’t live by the day. I live by the second. What I can postpone that is unpleasant for another second, I do. If it requires four or five backbreaking steps to hang the skirt up instead of putting it on the back of the chair, it is put on the back of the chair -- to be hung up later. As the days go by and the stacks of clothes on the back of the chair get thicker and the mountains of paper and books on the desk rise, the walls of the room gradually diminish until there is only a narrow rim left up around the ceiling. This has an irritating effect on Regina, which she voices in the strongest possible imperatives. The room is highly contradictory. Over the mantelpiece, a most mellow gray, aging picture of Christ -- gentle and benign, merciful yet stern, and looking just the least amused. He must be often. Hung by the side of the door, the Devil -- cross-eyed, thin, wicked -- my own creation. He is a peculiar wall piece, but he doesn’t disturb me. Over the bookcase, a china duck headed for infinite space -- only hoping that he will find a shore before he grows weak and drops into the sea.
My desk is the monument to my mind, and by the appearance of it, my mind must have intimate contact with garbage collectors. I don’t live by the day. I live by the second. What I can postpone that is unpleasant for another second, I do. If it requires four or five backbreaking steps to hang the skirt up instead of putting it on the back of the chair, it is put on the back of the chair -- to be hung up later. As the days go by and the stacks of clothes on the back of the chair get thicker and the mountains of paper and books on the desk rise, the walls of the room gradually diminish until there is only a narrow rim left up around the ceiling. This has an irritating effect on Regina, which she voices in the strongest possible imperatives. The room is highly contradictory. Over the mantelpiece, a most mellow gray, aging picture of Christ -- gentle and benign, merciful yet stern, and looking just the least amused. He must be often. Hung by the side of the door, the Devil -- cross-eyed, thin, wicked -- my own creation. He is a peculiar wall piece, but he doesn’t disturb me. Over the bookcase, a china duck headed for infinite space -- only hoping that he will find a shore before he grows weak and drops into the sea.
Categories
Provenance
Reading
Citation
Published under the heading "Higher Yearning," in Harper's Magazine (February, 2018). <Link to harpers.org>
Date of Entry
01/23/2018
