Am I worried people will say I’m repeating myself? Sure. One thought I had was to publish it as a novel but eventually I just decided to do what I wanted to do.
It’s being a grown up, which I never figured out how to do, scrubbing the tub, and remembering to eat and shampoo my hair. It’s the basics: I can write a whole book, but I cannot handle the basics.
I sit there in my bed staring at the wall, feeling happy, enjoying the way the wall looks, how pink and how white it is. Pink and white, as far as I’m concerned, have never looked quite so pink and white before.
It didn’t and doesn’t turn out well. There is no happy ending to the story of sorrow if you are born with a predilection for despair. The world is, after all, a coarse and brutal and cruel place. It’s only a matter of how long you can live with it.
homesickness is just a state of mind for me. i’m always missing someone or someplace or something, i’m always trying to get back to some imaginary somewhere. my life has been one long longing.
