acc. to proust again

this post is about to be extremely annoying. but forewarned is forearmed (with two big ones, reaching approximately up to the elbow).

according to proust, as far as i understand him, an object is not complete until the present. this includes any object at all: tennis balls (which changed for me in their aspect complete when i read that stupid plaque at shakespeare that said "tennis balls, my liege" from henry v and now can't think of tennis balls without adding a phantom "my liege" onto their rear end), papaya, the lived self. that whole explanation of 4-d as, if one could see it, the tree growing in past to the piece of paper in hand presently which always annoyed the shit out of me makes more sense now (though still annoys the shit out of me).
since the present's always changing its frame, the object is never complete in "time," yet is always complete in our perception, which supplies endless frustration. and proust attempts to lay down guidelines by which time can be dealt with, acknowledging all the parts that make it whole (or as whole as possible--through the specificity of his work he, by process of a logic he exemplifies, shows us exactly how his misrepresentations-slash-incompletenesses could have taken place--the process of creation of an object in action, which is pretty wild). when you think about it, this misrepresentation, the leaving out of the parts of what we felt and thought while we were making our current state (or subject) that we somewhat subconsciously understand as marring the picture, is part of what makes time so painful (though i really shouldn't talk as time hasn't had the occasion to pain me yet exactly as such) (that is, time has pained me, but not a ton). we forget, ergo it loses its reality, ergo something--it feels like being halved. i remember the things i did for v, most of which i hope to god v doesn't know about...i remember those dreams with the princesses and the chains, but i remember them as facts. the meat got sucked out. it might have been physical (another solid reason to hate the body). but do i want to go back, or not to have been the person that did those things? i don't think so. i mean, i'm not sure, but i don't think so. mostly because i can't imagine myself without them: my perception of the object of me-formerly and me-today is completed out of their components, however dependent the reality of me is upon them.
which i guess is a question that could be answered quite easily, if wrongly, by asking someone else who they thought i was. were i the theoretical laura riding, the answer might be the same as mine...
okay, this is boring. the point is that objects, super-saturate as they are, in the framework of time become various things, incomparable to either other objects which theoretically look like them or themselves not-in-time. the object percieved is entirely dependent upon the person recieving it--but as everything is an object to everyone provided it isn't themself at the present moment, this is less unequalizing than it seems.