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[
Erez Solomon
]
:
"I look at things on walls."
[
histories
]
Kellie has a wonderful entry written today. Stories such as these impress me, probably because I'm a woman and have always been a bit of a "femi-nazi" in a more "feminine" way. I never thought consciously about my knack for recognizing sexual harrassment or the importance of being open about the female body. But that was before I went to Mount Holyoke College, pronounced "whole-yoke" (blah blah blah). I dropped out after completing my first year. It was great for those many months when you didn't want to shave your legs and stand the upraised eyebrows, but other than that, I had a horrible time of it (no offense to MoHos everywhere).
My year started out badly. Four weeks in, my father died. He had come to visit me on Saturday. He left to see my sister at Brandeis, spent the night in her dorm. Driving home on Sunday night on his big bad ass motorcycle, he hit a 900 lb moose.
I was depressed for the next three months. I slept only 2 hours a day until I was prescribed sleeping pills. I became extremely paranoid, frightened, wigged out. I stopped writing (I was writing every single day up until then). In fact, I didn't pick up my notebook again until two years later.
You know what? I'll write about this tomorrow. It's too heavy to get into when I have to leave in fifteen minutes. But read Kellie's entry and then the one she references. Tomorrow, I'll tell you a bit about me.
I promise.
beam me up, scotty
back up : : index : : moving on
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