“So, now I shall talk every night. To myself. To the moon. I shall walk, as I did tonight, jealous of my loneliness, in the blue-silver of the cold moon, shining brilliantly on the drifts of fresh-fallen snow, with the myriad sparkles. I talk to myself and look at the dark trees, blessedly neutral. So much easier than facing people, than having to look happy, invulnerable, clever. With masks down, I walk, talking to the moon, to the neutral impersonal force that does not hear, but merely accepts my being. And does not smite me down.”~Sylvia Plath (Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams)
It is a Crazy Day. A Sylvia Plath day. A Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams Day. One of those days when I am fighting tears. In reality I've been fighting tears since yesterday. But, somehow, I thought today would be better. It's not. Negative news on a Chapter Draft. Still stinging from Thursday's blow. And even though I'm up to eleven job referrals none have called. My therapist says that's normal. That at the beginning of a new semester, things are crazy. Applications take more time. But I'm worried about bills. Worried about life. Worried about everything. Part of me, a weak and scared part, wants to give in and talk. But, I won't. Because, like Plath's Johnny Panic, the lines between good and evil, creative and destructive have blurred for me in that relationship, personifying the "darkness" with my attachment to something I "believed to be good." So instead of talking to him, "I shall talk every night. To myself. To the moon....its so much easier than facing people, than having to look happy, invulnerable, clever." So I will walk "talking to the moon," a "neutral impersonal force that does not hear, but merely accepts my being. And does NOT SMITE ME DOWN."