No One Belongs Here More Than You

by Miranda July

I wondered if I would spend the rest of my life inventing complicated ways to depress myself, now that I had finished my book and gone to meet the man who said I had promise a year ago but wasn’t home today.

As it turns out, our looks are not the main thing that makes us human.

Aaah

We learned to be discreet. It helped that nobody really cares about anyone but themselves anyway. They check to make sure you aren’t killing anyone, anyone they know, and then they go back to what they were saying about how they think they might be having a real breakthrough in their relationship with themselves.

:(

told myself he would stop trimming only if I got out of bed.

OCD again

The tree got smaller and smaller. Soon it was just a stump, and he had to go underground and start trimming the roots, and still I couldn’t get up. The roots were gone and he was sawing through the earth and I told myself that when he came out in China, I would get up. It took him all day.

Don’t you mean it took you all day? :)

Why would someone do this, go through all the trouble of pretending to be an accountant when it would be so much easier to not be one. Because you get bound in, you say you will and then you have to and then they expect you to and it just seems easier to do it.

she never turned away in the pauses that allow for turning away.

This is a quality that I look for in a person, not recoiling. Some people need a red carpet rolled out in front of them in order to walk forward into friendship. They can’t see the tiny outstretched hands all around them, everywhere, like leaves on trees.

Low expectations like you said before. How sad is life?

Past a certain age, they give up on the name games, which is regrettable for someone like me who loves anything that involves going around a circle and saying something about yourself. I wish there was a class where we could just keep going around the circle, around and around, until we had finally said everything about ourselves.

I was easy to love. People just need a little help because they are so used to not loving. It’s like scoring the clay to make another piece of clay stick to it.

:)

For how long can you behold another person? Before you have to think of yourself again, like dipping the brush back in for more ink.

Oh damn! You write so beautifully, Miranda!

It turned out three was just a number. It didn’t describe the pain any more than money describes the thing it buys.

Uff