Have I told you that I adore the poetry of Theodore Roethke? I do. Just so you know. In fact, I would (someday) like to go to the place where he died. It's a zen garden on Bainbridge Island, I believe. That isn't what it was when he died there. At the time, it was a swimming pool owned by a family that had befriended him. He drowned ( ( Read more... )

It seems to me that it might be strangely liberating to give up on maintaining my social standing. I could just sit at home, cook extravagant and healthy meals, watch movies (films, even), read, and write. There is a kind of allure to the idea that I could just let go of keeping up appearances and reminding people that I'm here ( Read more... )