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"I shall wear necklaces and a white dress without sleeves at night. There will be parties in brilliant rooms; and one man will single me out and will tell me what he has told no other person. He will find in me some quality, some peculiar thing. But I do not want to be fixed, to be pinioned. I tremble, I quiver, like the leaf in the hedge, as I sit dangling my feet, on the edge of the bed, with a new day to break open. I have fifty years, I have sixty years to spend. I have not yet broken into my hoard. This is the beginning." - Virginia Woolf, The Waves

She tries to breathe, to move, to squirm but she’s stuck in her own predictability. There are harsh words from strangers and she is still not able to wrap her mind around this thing that’s going on between her and others. While she tries not to get upset, she can’t help herself.

So there’s beer and the dizzy feeling in her head. It’s almost like floating and it’s hard not to run away.

The possibility of more is stuck in her head and she can’t help but think about the ‘what ifs.’

They’re all kind of stuck in this nightmare. She is too old and the others are not old enough, she muses, while she wants to drown in her pillows and dreams of Australian summer nights. It’s not the first time she thinks back and even though it’s barely a month away she feels like she’s slipping away in this same type of stereotypes her parents put her in.

She’s trembling, quivering like a leaf in the hedge, while Virginia Wolf is in her mind. There are wishes of special movements and breathtaking decisions. But here it’s different and nobody seems to understand her own way of thinking. Nobody seems to care.

So there is the possibility of floating. Just keep on floating.

3.4.11 19:44

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