Confessions of a troubled mind

I remember her eyes, her sensual yet cold and uncompromising eyes. Her lips, frantically producing the theorems and equations for us two hundred something students are engraved in my mind. I remember feeling her loneliness, her desperate denial of meaning and sense.

It must have been through her that I became the economic man I am today. She must have been the mirror that made me aware of who I was. Slowly I must have recreated myself, perfected an image she offered the contours of. Her history became mine.

What is history of economics if not the final attempt to seduce the ones we loved in the past? Do we not in every textual utterance struggle only to understand ourselves?

As historian of economics I must confess a troubled mind.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s