i'm currently thumbing through sylvia plath's the bell jar and saw this:
"i spent a lot of time having imaginary conversations with buddy willard. he was a couple of years older than i was and very scientific, so he could always prove things. when i was with him i had to work to keep my head above water.
"these conversations i had in my mind usually repeated the beginnings of conversations i'd really had with buddy, only they finished with me answering him back quite sharply, instead of me sitting around and saying, 'i guess so'."
how astoundingly much like myself.
well it's a bit unsettling to have novels describe oneself so aptly and accurately. i came across this circumstance for the first time while perusing patricia highsmith's carol (the main character said she couldn't picture her parents ever having intercourse), and it just sort of perturbed me that some author or character's been written to share the same exact quirk as me.
let's digress.
it's so easy to fluctuate between love and hate isn't it? one minute your parents spoil you and you think to, perhaps, never raise arguments with them ever again;
then the next minute they're exhibiting obvious favouritism (a deadly sin, imo) and you imagine you could very nearly asphyxiate them. how weird.
"i spent a lot of time having imaginary conversations with buddy willard. he was a couple of years older than i was and very scientific, so he could always prove things. when i was with him i had to work to keep my head above water.
"these conversations i had in my mind usually repeated the beginnings of conversations i'd really had with buddy, only they finished with me answering him back quite sharply, instead of me sitting around and saying, 'i guess so'."
how astoundingly much like myself.
well it's a bit unsettling to have novels describe oneself so aptly and accurately. i came across this circumstance for the first time while perusing patricia highsmith's carol (the main character said she couldn't picture her parents ever having intercourse), and it just sort of perturbed me that some author or character's been written to share the same exact quirk as me.
let's digress.
it's so easy to fluctuate between love and hate isn't it? one minute your parents spoil you and you think to, perhaps, never raise arguments with them ever again;
then the next minute they're exhibiting obvious favouritism (a deadly sin, imo) and you imagine you could very nearly asphyxiate them. how weird.
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