It's Not Enough For Me

As A Writer, You Always Read In Two Minds: You Read As A Reader And You Enjoy It, And You Look At It As A Writer, And You Just Admire The Architecture And The Construction.

This Is A Nice Metaphor, Too, About Mothers And Daughters - That When It Came Time For Me To Make My Own, I Was Making A Completely Different Garden Than The One That My Mom Has. They Don't Look Like They Came From Relatives. Hers Is A Very Productive And Pragmatic Vegetable Garden, And Mine Is A Ridiculous Overabundance Of Useless Plants. It Doesn't Feed Anybody, It Doesn't Serve Any Purpose.

This Person Had Arrived, He Had Illuminated Her, He Had Ensorcelled Her With Notions Of Miracle And Beauty, He Had Both Understood And Misunderstood Her, He Had Married Her, He Had Broken Her Heart, He Had Looked Upon Her With Those Sad And Hopeless Eyes, He Had Accepted His Banishment, And Now He Was Gone. What A Stark And Stunning Thing Was Life- That Such A Cataclysm Can Enter And Depart So Quickly, And Leave Such Wreckage Behind!

Equally Disquieting Are The Times When We Do Make A Choice, Only To Later Feel As Though We Have Murdered Some Other Aspect Of Our Being By Settling On One Single Concrete Decision.

Oh, Cold World -- I Have Grown So Weary Of You And All Your Horrible Bathrooms.