Life is all getting used to what you're not used to.
Life was an impenetrable mystery cloaked in babble.
My first job was working in a dress shop in Los Angeles in 1940, for $7 a week.
The truth came slowly like a story told by people interrupting each other.
There was no way to grasp the reality of the present which slid away each second, invisible as air; reality only existed after the fact, in one's vision of the past.
My life was incoherent to me. I felt it quivering, spitting out broken teeth.