I Was The Baby Of The Family,

I Have Far More Enthusiasm In Life Than I Have Actual Energy. In My Excitement, I Routinely Take On More That I Can Physically Or Emotionally Handle, Which Causes Me To Break Down In Quite Predictable Displays Of Dramatic Exhaustion. You Will Be The One Burdened With The Job Of Mopping Me Up Every Time I've Overextended Myself And Then Fallen Apart. This Will Be Unbelievably Tedious. I Apologize In Advance.

I Feel Like All This Stuff That We Make: Books And Art And Music, All Of It. There's This Energy That Circles The World That Wants To Be Made Manifest, And It Is Just Looking For Someone To Come Through. And It's Dying For You To Make It. And If You Don't Do It, It Will Go Find Somebody Else.

I Push Every Day Against Forces That Say You Have To Go Faster, Be More Effective, Be More Productive, You Have To Constantly Outdo Yourself, You Have To Constantly Outdo Your Neighbor - All Of The Stuff That Creates An Incredibly Productive Society, But Also A Very Neurotic One.

Do I Really Deserve This Pleasure? This Is American, Too-the Insecurity About Whether We Have Earned Our Happiness.

The World Needs Women Who Stop Asking For Permission From The Principal. Permission To Live Their Lives As They Deeply Know They Often Should. I Think We Still Look To Authority Figures For Validation, Recognition, Permission.