The remarkable mundane

I'm reading this book, _The Hours_ which was turned into the recent film. It is a great book--and very spooky, because practically every paragraph contains something that I've thought before. Like, just this week, I was at the library downtown,and standing in the vestibule, just beside the door, but not in the way of the door. I was putting on my gloves and thinking "This is what normal people do...they stand to the side and put on their gloves and take out their umbrella. Glad I got that covered, and accomplished it so normally." Because, really, don't you feel sometimes just on the verge of madness? What is keeping you from throwing yourself into the bushes, or grabbing the stranger walking by? It feels like an act sometimes--and you're simply mimicing what other "normal" people do (Judith Butler, thank you very much). And so the books goes, "On the steps of Hogarth House, she pauses to remember herself. She has learned over the years that sanity involves a certain measure of impersonation, not simply for the benefit of husband and servants but for the sake, first and foremost, of one's own convictions." So...yeah...sometimes just the act of walking down the street in a regular fashion seems a remarkable feat.