A Quote by Janette Turner Hospital
Her days come and go like birds, her dreams like days.
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Whenever there's a red carpet event coming up my trainer in LA that I see, I always come to her like three days before and go, 'Can you make me really thin in three days?' She's always like, 'If you come to me consistently all throughout the year, then yes I can. When you come to me with three days and ask to lose 10 pounds it's just not going to happen.' I'm like, 'Do your best. Please. Make me skinny.'
She still had her bad days, no question, when the black dog of depression sniffed her out and settled its crushing weight on her chest and breathed its pungent dog breath in her face. On those days she called in sick to the IT shop where, most days, she untangled tangled networks for a song. On those days she pulled down the shades and ran dark for twelve or twenty-four or seventy-two hours, however long it took for the black dog to go on home to its dark master.
I stroke her lightly, memorizing her body. I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I lie motionless, savoring the feeling of her body against mine. I'm afraid to breathe in case I break the spell.
She dreams a lot. She dreams of Ondines and falling maidens and houses burning in the night. But search her dreams all you like and you'll never find Prince Charming. No knight on a white horse gallops into her dreams to carry her away. When she dreams of love, she dreams of smashed potatoes.
I believe in America. I believe in her purpose and her promise. I believe her best days have not yet been lived. I believe her greatest deeds are reserved for the generations to come.
It is challenging. I have my days where I feel really guilty that I've been here every day if I have to work a lot. But I am so lucky to live in a country where a girl like me can make this kind of living, achieve her dreams and reach her goals. And I don't think anywhere else in the world can girls have the freedom that we do here to have these amazing careers and be mothers.
So many writers don't like to write... I like to write, and sometimes I'm afraid I like it too much, because when I get into work, I don't want to leave it. And as a result, I'll go for days and days and days without leaving my house.
There are days when everyone in the world looks like a Diane Arbus to me. She's a genius but her work is completely different to mine. But on those days I don't use my camera.
The Eucharist had so powerful an attraction for the Blessed Virgin that she could not live away from It. She lived in It and by It. She passed her days and her nights at the feet of her Divine Son... Her love for her hidden God shone in her countenance and communicated its ardor to all about her.
I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin. I want.
One of the patients that really stands out for me was a middle-aged woman who actually had HIV in the early days, and helping her kind of come to terms with that. She had rather late-stage illness, but just helping her, sort of cope with the challenges of the disease and the infections and all that, but also her social issues, like, coming out to her family about the illness, and a very religious family.
The girl dreams she is dangerously ill. Suddenly birds come out of her skin and cover her completely ... Swarms of gnats obscure the sun, the moon, and all the stars except one. That one start falls upon the dreamer.
Making clothes involves what I like...color, pattern, shape and movement...I like the everyday process...the people, the pressure, the surprise of seeing the work come alive walking and dancing around on strangers. Like red lipstick on the mouth, my products wake up and brighten and bring the wearer to life...drawing attention to her beauty and specialness...her moods and movements...her dreams and fantasies.
But I didn't frame it; I put into an envelope and sealed it and stuffed it far back into a corner drawer of a filing cabinet. It's there, just in case one of these days I start to lose her. There might be a morning when I wake up and her face isn't the first thing I see. Or a lazy August afternoon when I can't quite recall anymore where the freckles were on her right shoulders. Maybe one of these days, I will not be able to listen to the sound of snow falling and hear her footsteps.
Some days felt longer than other days. Some days felt like two whole days. Unfortunately those days were never weekend days. Our Saturdays and Sundays passed in half the time of a normal workday. In other words, some weeks it felt like we worked ten straight days and had only one day off.
Margaret Cho is definitely one of the people, like just watching or hearing her stand up back in the days when stand-up albums were pretty prolific. Seeing her in Carnegie Hall was pretty revolutionary for me to be like, 'Oh, this Asian person talking about her sexuality.'
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