This one, however, disquiets me.
It took me painfully long even to recognize that the event had left a kind of ocean of disquiet in me that manifested itself in panic attacks and a lifelong struggle with agoraphobia, and in my difficulties negotiating some aspects of public life, as well as in my reactions to trivial losses.
As I gazed at my father's suitcase, it seemed to me that this was part of what was causing me disquiet: after working in a room, trying to survive as a writer in Turkey for twenty-five years, I was galled to see my father hide his deep thoughts in this suitcase, to see him act as if writing were work that had to be done in secret, far from the eyes of society, the state, the people.
It wasn't, however, only such disquiet that prevented me from joining the swooners.
Waiting at the gate to board the flight to Buenos Aires, an awful sense of disquiet creeps upon me.
Normally when I write comedy, there's a lurking anxiety that I won't be able to end the piece well, and this disquiet remains with me throughout, until I finally have to confront the bloody thing.
"There has been a degree of disquiet suggested to me at the length to which the system sometimes acts to uphold a key principle in the Children Act 1989 that a child's best place is with the natural parents wherever possible".
He can smell the disquiet coming off me like cold sweat, and he's predator enough to know when to press his advantage.
This disquiet hasn't stopped me listening, of course, which makes me complicit in a programme that is, to some extent, ethically questionable.
