The trouble was, I had been inadequate all along, I simply hadn't thought about it.

Some things are hard to write about. After something happens to you, you go to write it down, and either you over dramatize it, or underplay it, exaggerate the wrong parts or ignore the important ones. At any rate, you never write it quite the way you want to.

I want to become acutely aware of all I've taken for granted.

I do not love; I do not love anybody except myself. That is a rather shocking thing to admit.

I didn't know shorthand either. This meant I couldn't get a good job after college. My mother kept telling me nobody wanted a plain English major. But an English major who knew shorthand would be something else again. Everybody would want her. She would be in demand among all the up-and-coming young men and she would transcribe letter after thrilling letter. The trouble was, I hated the idea of serving men in any way. I wanted to dictate my own thrilling letters.

I ride earth's burning carousel. Day in, day out.

I felt dull and flat and full of shattered visions.