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She sat up straight in her chair and placed her hands palm down on her thighs. She closed her eyes and breathed in through her nostrils, out through her mouth. With each breath she imagined her body being filled with a powerful gold light. The light gave her energy and strength. The light filled her feet, her legs, her stomach, her arms and, finally, whoosh, it whirled around her head, so that all she could see was a golden glow, as if she was looking directly into a sunset, and for a moment she felt as if she were floating just a few centimeters above her chair.
I will be fine. Whatever he says will not touch the essence of me. I will cope. On the count of three. One … two …
The Violent Femmes reminded her of the eighties, and being a teenager, and feeling supercharged with hormones and hope.
It sometimes seemed so peculiar and wrong to her that you could be that intimate with someone, to go to sleep with him and wake up with him, to do really quite extraordinarily personal things together on a regular basis, and then, suddenly, you don’t even know his telephone number, or where he’s living or working, or what he did today or last week or last year.
Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment. —Buddhist quote on Ellen’s bathroom mirror
Its very awkwardness and awfulness made it somehow essentially human. It was one of those rare, poignant, pure moments that encapsulated everything that was wonderful and tragic about life.
do with Jack. “We’ve got it all under control.” The rage that swept through me was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I hated him. I still loved him. But I hated him. And ever since then it’s been hard to tell the difference between the two. If I didn’t hate him so intensely, maybe I would have been able to stop loving him.
It was funny how she’d always thought she had ample supplies of empathy; it turned out that to be truly empathetic she had to experience it.
