All Fours

by Miranda July

I needed to eat messily while reading, to sometimes not get dressed all day. To work in bed.

The only dangerous lie was one that asked me to compress myself down into a single convenient entity that one person could understand. I was a kaleidoscope, each glittering piece of glass changing as I turned.

A person with a journeying, experimental soul should be living a life that allowed for it.

But maybe the road split between: a life spent longing vs. a life that was continually surprising