Friday, Feb. 21, 2003
And what does it mean when a desire grows bigger than one's self?
What do you do when you turn your back on the thing, quietly knitting words together in the corner, trying to ignore the caterwaul behind you?
How do you handle the fact that while you were sleeping this willful thing put on your clothes and drank vodka gimlets with your friends?
And now everyone is a bit touchy when you are around.
Where do you go in the house, in the yard, to the street, or Iberia, to get away from the insistent acknowledgement of the thing's existence?
When you starve it, the thing will take pieces of you for lunch, and again at High Tea.
It knows no reason, and will not be comforted.
It is an appalling thing to have followed you.
It is tiring and shameful and very not so pretty.