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Before you can be effective in communication with ANYONE else, you must know who YOU are. It begins with you. Believe me when I say, I don't need anyone's approval in this classroom ... I'm great company for myself. Me, myself, and I ... we laugh a lot. (Said on the first week of class each phase, somewhat rewording each time, but the gist is always there). ↗
I am made to think, not for the first time, that in my writing I have plunged ahead-head-on, heedlessly one might say-or 'fearlessly'- into my own future: this time of utter raw anguished loss. Though I may have had, since adolescence, a kind of intellectual/literary precocity, I had not experienced much;nor would I experience much until I was well into middle age-the illnesses and deaths of my parents, this unexpected death of my husband. We play at paste till qualified for pearl says Emily Dickinson. Playing at paste is much of our early lives. And then, with the violence of a door slammed shut by wind rushing through a house, life catches up with us. ↗
Die Welt ist nirgends außer diesen Mauern; Nur Fegefeuer, Qual, die Hölle selbst. Von hier verbannt, ist aus der Welt verbannt, Und solcher Bann ist Tod: Drum gibst du ihm Den falschen Namen. - Nennst du Tod Verbannung, Enthauptest du mit goldnem Beile mich Und lächelst zu dem Streich, der mich ermordet. There is no world without Verona walls, But purgatory, torture, hell itself. Hence banishèd is banished from the world, And world's exile is death. Then "banishèd" Is death mistermed. Calling death "banishèd", Thou cuttest my head off with a golden axe And smilest upon the stroke that murders me. Romeo: Act III, Scene 3 ↗
The coldest most rational scientific madness is also the most intolerable. But when a man has acquired a certain ability to subsist, even rather scantily, in a certain niche with the help of a few grimaces, he must either keep at it or resign himself to dying the death of a guinea pig. Habits are acquired more quickly than courage, especially the habit of filling one's stomach. ↗
And, on a wide view, I could see that it makes little difference whether one dies at the age of thirty or threescore and ten—since, in either case, other men and women will continue living, the world will go on as before. Also, whether I died now or forty years hence, this business of dying had to be got through, inevitably. Still, somehow this line of thought wasn't as consoling as it should have been; the idea of all those years of life in hand was a galling reminder! ↗
