Unfortunately, it hurts all three of my feelings.
I don’t want to make anyone else look stupid. That’s a privilege I reserve for myself.
It’s a man’s world and show business is a man’s meal, with women generously sprinkled through it like overqualified spice.
Sometimes I’m afraid I’m happy, but because I expect it to be something else, I question the experience. So now, when in doubt,” she shrugged with true bravado, “I’ll assume I’m happy.
We lie buried together during the night and haunt each other by day.
People adapt to you. Don’t worry, you can’t alter what they think of you to any great degree, and by the same token what they think of you can’t alter you.
I just have basically too much personality for one person, and not quite enough for two.
Tell the truth, be kind, all that corny stuff.
My want can only do so much in terms of changing what’s actually occuring with other people, and I’d like to keep it that way. I don’t want to feel that if I had wanted something more, or had said one other thing, or had worn a different dress, or had been more mysterious, or more open, then I would get something or someone I wouldn’t get otherwise.
I had to comport myself with something approaching dignity, at twenty.
Now this is a delusion, but it’s my delusion and I’m sticking with it. It’s sort of like: I have problems but problems don’t have me.
I’m sorry it’s not Mark – it could’ve been. It should’ve been. It might’ve meant something. Maybe not much, but certainly more.
I suspect that no matter what happens I will allow it to hurt me. Eat away at my insides, as it were – as it will be. As it always has been.
And as much as I may have joked about Star Wars over the years, I liked that I was in those films. Particularly as the only girl in an all-boy fantasy.
Anyway, I suppose in part I’m telling this story now because I want all of you – and I do mean all – to know that I wasn’t always a somewhat-overweight woman without an upper lip to her name who can occasionally be found sleeping behind her face and always thinking in her mouth.
Stop playing the part of the glib martyr. You’re just trying to make cyanide out of 7-Up.
I was sitting by myself the other night doing the usual things one does when spending time alone with yourselves. You know, making mountains out of molehills, hiking up to the top of the mountains, having a Hostess Twinkie and then throwing myself off the mountain. Stuff like that.
But I think if you have the expectation that you’re going to be happy throughout your life – more to the point, if you have a need to be comfortable all the time – well, among other things, you have the makings of a classic drug addict or alcoholic.
I know how closely most of us tend to hold on to whatever cache of patience we’ve managed to amass over a lifetime and I appreciate your squandering some of your cherished stash here.
I was a lucky girl–without the self-esteem to feel it, or the wherewithal to enjoy what there was to enjoy of it and then let go.