Weather

by Jenny Offill

My # 1 fear is the acceleration of days. No such thing supposedly, but I swear I can feel it.

and by starting over life regained its meaning.

I do have one bookish superstition about my birthday. I like to see what Virginia Woolf said about an age in her diaries before I reach it. Usually it’s inspiring.

Two hikers see a hungry bear on the trail ahead of them. One of them takes out his running shoes and puts them on. “You can’t outrun a bear,” the other whispers. “I just have to outrun you,” he says.

In 1903, a famous psychologist worried that young people would lose their connection to dusk and its contemplative moments.

“Listen, I’ve heard all about that,” says this red-faced man. “But what’s going to happen to the American weather?”

I’m too tired for any of it. The compromise is that we all eat ice cream and watch videos of goats screaming like women.

Nothing lasts forever is the conclusion reached. An exception is made for the earth and the sky.

There is a period after every disaster in which people wander around trying to figure out if it is

truly a disaster. Disaster psychologists use the term “milling” to describe most people’s default actions when they find themselves in a frightening new situation.

There is a theory that new hate has been unleashed. Another that the amount of hate is exactly the same as it’s always been. Lorraine subscribes to the latter one. The only difference is that more people are noticing it, she says.

It is important to remember that emotional pain comes in waves. Remind yourself that there will be a pause between the waves.

Funny how when you’re married all you want is to be anonymous to each other again, but when you’re anonymous all you want is to be married and reading together in bed.

The thought of having to be with someone else long enough to deserve it again. That’s what feels impossible. Because the part where they are charmed by you, where you are every good thing, and then the part later—sooner, maybe, but always later—where they tire of you, of all your repetitions, of all your little and big shames, I don’t think I could bear that.

And then it is another day and another and another, but I will not go on about this because no doubt you too have experienced time.

He had a melodious voice. I wanted every day to be like this, to begin in shame and fear and end in glorious reassurance.