Just a Little Haiku

Book Review #2, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks

Mon, 10 Sep 2012 03:22:56 -0400

This is my first blog post in 7 months. I wish it was a little more exciting. I just finished this book and I wanted to get my scattered thoughts down because my memory is terrible and I did not want to forget the thoughts this book provoked in me. This isn’t a great book review in that, if you don’t already know what the book is about, I didn’t provide any summary. I also referenced people/things that someone who hasn’t read the book will have no idea about. Maybe I shouldn’t bill this as a book review at all, but rather a conversation starter with anyone who has read the book. Okay? Okay. Well, without further ado…

***

I’ve just finished “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks,” a book I’ve been meaning to read for the past two years. It was worth at least some of the hype and brought up several points of consideration for me.

Obviously, the race and class factors that affected - and continue to affect - Henrietta Lacks and her family was a huge part of this story. It is one of the great ironies, driven home throughout the book, that HeLa cells have done so much for science and medicine and yet the Lacks family, most of whom are chronically ill, cannot afford health insurance. Honestly, (and as I type this, I realize how ignorant it probably makes me sound), perhaps it’s an urban/rural divide, or a middle class/lower class divide, or even a racial divide between myself and the Lackses, but when I read some of the descriptions of the people and the conditions in which they lived in this book, I felt like I was reading about the 1940’s. The fact that Clover, the tiny town where many of them grew up or lived, was simply bulldozed sometime in the 2000’s, blew my mind.

Because the author portrays the Lacks family so candidly, their lack of education comes across often. The fact that a scientist gave Deborah a biology textbook to explain her mother’s cells to her was laughable, but infuriating at the same time. Also laughable/infuriating was thinking about Deborah Googling HeLa in an Ambien-induced state and getting all kinds of wacky results and being unable to make sense of which items related to her mother and which ones didn’t. It did made my heart happy though, when the author emphasized that the later generations of Lackses are college-bound or striving for college.

It’s just sad and cruel because if the Lackses were really serious about suing someone regarding the HeLa cells, I don’t think they would have had the education (or the means) to go about it (though Deborah totally kicked ass on getting power-of-attorney over Elsie’s records). They couldn’t advocate for themselves and there was no one to advocate for them. It’s like everyone the Lackses ever came in contact with regarding the HeLa cells either used them or brushed them off. Enter Rebecca Skloot. When I first started the book, I thought the author was arrogant, inserting herself into the process at every opportunity. But I realize now that she was an integral part of this story (and that working on this project for ten years must have been a profound experience for her). The more you read about past reporters and scientists’ interactions with the family, the more Skloot grows on you. She was as honest as she could be about her intentions and she put up with ALOT (Deborah’s constant bipolar freakouts, for example) and stuck with the reporting through it all. She also did everything she could to help the Lacks family understand on a basic level how her mother’s cells were obtained and what they were used for. And she set up a memorial foundation! I was glad, in the end, that it seemed like the family finally got some peace of mind.

The final thing this book obviously wants its readers to think about - and I certainly did - is ethical research concerns. It’s hard to judge the scientists who first discovered HeLa cells and freely traded them without informed consent because what they were doing was standard practice at the time. Informed consent as a concept didn’t exist then and looking back on it with contemporary eyes is unfair. That being said, reading that there are still not really any measures in place to protect individuals from their tissues or other specimens being used for scientific purposes frightens me a little. On a personal level, I don’t mind if science or medicine uses any tissues, etc. they may have collected from me in the past 24 years or that they may collect in the next 24. But the principle makes me uneasy. I think it’s a greedy (and ignorant) person who would refuse the use of their tissues for possible commercial gain, but I do also generally believe people have the right TO KNOW things. Some of the scientists quoted in the Afterword of the book were urging people to set aside their personal feelings for the benefit science. I would challenge these scientists to make science and research more transparent to the public. Tissue culture doesn’t have to be a big, bad, scary thing. I think the not knowing is what makes it seem ominous. If you go in for a routine check-up and you think your samples are thrown out after they are processed, then you find out down the line that they weren’t, of course that is going to stir up feelings of confusion and distrust. People should be made aware that there is a possibility, however small or large, that a part of them might be used in scientific or medical research and in what ways it might be used. I think most sane, rational people would be happy to contribute.

It's Haiku Time Again

Fri, 02 Mar 2012 01:04:00 -0500

In December, I posted some of my best haikus from the previous months. Well, I’ve been writing a haiku every day since January 1st. I can’t wait to get to 366! While they are not all masterpieces of the poetic form, here are some of the better ones:

***

the house and the gym

are not very compelling

settings for haiku.

***

mouth-watering smell

of fresh garlic and onions

in a saute pan.

***

didn’t get a thing

done today - sucked into the

vortex of tv.

***

oh, to be the girls

on boardwalk empire! so

gorgeous, drunk, happy.

***

thinking about the

distance between us makes me

melancholy too.

***

i miss sunday nights

at the barbary, singing

and dancing with you.

***

the signs were always

obviously pointing me

in this direction.

***

sleeping and waking

with you in reality -

sweeter than in dreams.

***

yes, please, let’s go to

atlantic city, london,

paris, alaska!

***

motivation was

easy in january;

february’s hard.

***

without my glasses,

the world is a series of

blurry shapes, colors.

***

my brilliant best

friend says being 24’s

all vicissitudes.

***

cookies, card, a dance

party, so many hugs! thanks

for the sweet send off!

***

vegetarian

asian noodle soup in big

bowls with my best friend.

***

valentine’s day is

lame, we agree. so here’s a

just because haiku.

***

i am finally

understanding why people

love caffeine so much.

***

scalding hot shower

washes away five hours

of job frustration.

***

i’ve been foolish to

believe there might be someone

in this world for me.

***

everywhere i go,

i carry this worn notebook

of lousy haiku.

"He who doesn’t risk never gets to drink champagne."

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 00:30:12 -0500

“He who doesn’t risk never gets to drink champagne.”

- Russian Proverb

"After all these years I have observed that beauty, like happiness, is frequent. A day does not pass..."

Tue, 17 Jan 2012 04:00:38 -0500

“After all these years I have observed that beauty, like happiness, is frequent. A day does not pass when we are not, for an instant, in paradise.”

- Jorge Luis Borges

"In all things I sought rest, and never found it, except in a corner with a book."

Mon, 16 Jan 2012 07:47:04 -0500

““In all things I sought rest, and never found it, except in a corner with a book.””

- Thomas a Kempis

I Used to Think Children Were Terrifying, But Now I Think They Are Awesome

Wed, 04 Jan 2012 13:02:00 -0500

I’ve softened a lot in regards to my views on children in the past year or two. I really could not be bothered with them between the years of 2001 to 2010. I didn’t want to hear them screaming or crying. When I worked in a restaurant, I certainly did not want toddler’s grubby little hands smearing food all over my tables and throwing things onto the floor for me to clean up later. My old roommate and I used to dread going to the supermarket for fear of unattended children running into our shins. Looking back, I think I was just uncertain of how to interact with kids. I like to talk. A LOT. And I consider myself a very articulate person. I always found it difficult to interact with kids because I felt like they could never understand what I was trying to say. And I found myself unable to say things in a simple, relatable way. (I have this problem with peers and adults too. If I say something the way I want to say it, and it’s not understood immediately, I have a really hard time rephrasing it.)

But I remember what actively changed my mind about children. I met my friend Owen’s 1-year old son, Liam, for the first time. I had met other babies/children of friends and family members prior to this day, but something about this casual afternoon with Owen and Liam was special. We were watching kids’ shows and Liam was eating pizza (I think), and just playing. I just became fascinated by how open and inquisitive he was. When he picked up a toy and I asked, “Liam, can I see?” and he brought it over and shared with me, there was something so simple and innocent and sweet about it. It was love at first interaction. I was also fascinated by the side of Owen that Liam brought out. Owen is someone who I have known for years, but seeing him interact with his son was different than seeing him in any other situation – it was also tinged with simplicity, innocence, and sweetness. The love I could see and feel between my friend and his son, and the love I felt towards my friend for bringing someone so magical into the world and letting me share an afternoon with him, filled my heart. That day changed my demeanor towards kids forever. Soon after, my cousin and his wife had a baby girl named Michelle. Two years ago, I would never have made the effort to get to know my adorable second cousin, but presently, I did. And I love that she knows and recognizes me. And I love when we make silly kissy-faces at each other.

But I don’t just have a soft spot for children that I know or am related to. I smile at kids in stores now. I tell little girls that they have cute dresses or pretty headbands or awesome animal hats. Let’s face it. Kids have all the best clothes and I am totally jealous. I also never ever thought I would want to work with kids but I do - I work as a mentor for school children grades K-8. And while I still find that some can be bratty and annoying (so can adults), I mainly find them to be sweet and joyful. There is nothing like a first grade girl holding your hand and asking you to sit next to her on the bus. There is nothing like the pride you feel for a fifth grade boy who notoriously acts out when he works quietly and completes all of his assignments correctly. There is nothing like a game of “I Spy” with a second grade boy who calls you “salty.” There is nothing like first graders screaming with laughter when you are chasing after them on the playground. There is nothing like getting an arts and crafts project with ridiculously drawn likenesses of you. These are just some of the things I have experienced working in a school for 5 hours a week for only 6 weeks. The five hours a week I spend with my kids are almost always the best hours of my week. I have no idea what the future holds for me in terms of whether or not I will ever have kids of my own (if I do ever, it will not be for a very long time). But in the meantime, other people’s kids just keep on amazing me.

From the BIRTHDAY PRINCESS

Fri, 30 Dec 2011 16:58:02 -0500

i’m 24 today! i’m not just having an amazing birthday, but a wonderful birthday week! i am so grateful to everyone who i saw, who called me, who sent cards and messages, who bought (or will buy) me drinks, who bought me wonderful gifts, who baked me carrot cake. i have such an indescribably good feeling about turning 24/the year 2012 and i am the LUCKIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD to have so many wonderful people to share all this love and happiness in my heart with! ♥

"The prettiest dresses are worn to be taken off."

Wed, 28 Dec 2011 16:25:42 -0500

“The prettiest dresses are worn to be taken off.”

- Jean Cocteau

"Oh, my heart is thirsty for your kisses; they are the dew which should restore its freshness every..."

Wed, 21 Dec 2011 20:52:04 -0500

“Oh, my heart is thirsty for your kisses; they are the dew which should restore its freshness every night, when the hot sunshiny day has parched it. Kiss me in your dreams; and perhaps my heart will feel it.”

- Nathaniel Hawthorne to Fiancee Sophia Peabody, 1839

Regarding Macy’s Holiday Light Show Me: Is it just me, or...

Tue, 20 Dec 2011 17:59:00 -0500

Regarding Macy’s Holiday Light Show

Me: Is it just me, or is this a little lamer than you last remember it?

My friend Sam: Yeah, it’s not that great.

Me: Maybe it’s because we’re single women.

***

In all seriousness though, it was beautiful. But also, humorous.

Book Review #1, The Help

Mon, 19 Dec 2011 23:07:52 -0500

I read A LOT, but this is the first time I’ve attempted to “review” something. I typically just scribble my gut reactions and likes/dislikes about my latest read in a notebook. This is kind of like that, but significantly longer. I’m a terrible reviewer, because while I’m always happy to talk books, I don’t usually care about influencing anyone one way or another. This is a sort of weird introduction.

I’ve just finished reading Kathryn Stockett’s book “The Help.” The following is only about the book, as I have yet to see the movie. I realize I am a little late to the bandwagon, considering this was “the” book/film of the summer. Most contemporary fiction sends me running back to classic literature (my preferred genre); this was no exception.

“The Help” is the story of a young, spunky, aspiring writer, Skeeter Phelan, a white woman of privileged background born and raised in Jackson, Mississippi. After returning from college to a life of bridge games and youth league meetings with her socialite friends, Skeeter finds herself increasingly bored and irritated by her life in Jackson. She wants to be a journalist in a big city, but lacking any real experience, she is advised by a mentor to find something “disturbing” to write about. When her best friend, Hilly Holbrook, preaches to her about the health benefits of separate bathrooms for blacks and whites, it makes Skeeter cringe but gets her thinking about writing a book from the point of view of the help. She is personally invested in the topic, having been more-or-less raised by a maid named Constantine herself. Skeeter is the driving force of “The Help,” but the story would not be possible without maids Aibeleen and Minny. Throughout the book, they reveal details about their personal lives and work experiences. In agreeing to help Skeeter with her book, the three women form an uneasy alliance in the hope that their honesty will change relations between blacks and whites in Jackson. The book is eventually published anonymously, to the delight of some and to the horror of others.

I’m honestly very conflicted about this book. It is problematic in such a glaringly obvious way that the stories of the black maids are written by a white woman (I’m talking about both Skeeter and Stockett, who is writing from personal experience with a background similar to Skeeter’s own). Aibeleen and Minny are strong, powerful characters. Their life stories are, by far, more compelling than Skeeter’s own personal journey to become another small town 20-something living in New York City. It’s frustrating that the maids are unable to accomplish anything without Skeeter in the context of this story.

On the one hand, Skeeter is an admirable character. Maybe I say this because I can relate to the “typical” white girl with “white guilt” character who believes in equality for all, but has absolutely no idea what it is like to be black in the United States. And it’s a total no-brainer to NOT be racist in 2011. I can’t quite imagine standing for the same things in the 1960’s American South. So she has that going for her. Also, I think her intentions to “change things” (as she put it) were pure; I don’t think she simply sought out this story as something “interesting” to land her a dream job. The fact remains though, that Skeeter is pushy and nagging about getting Aibeleen to recruit maids for the book, knowing that she is dependent on them. She is also asking the maids to take personal risks that are much greater than her own risks. If Skeeter is found out as “The Help’s” anonymous author, the worst that is likely to happen to her is social isolation, but it is made clear throughout the story that she is socially ostracized before the book is even published. She has nothing to lose, while the maids put everything on the line. Even though Aibeleen is so overwhelmingly proud of her, Minny, and Skeeter’s accomplishment in getting the book published, this accomplishment costs her her job. She claims she feels “free.” But the reality of the situation is, if you followed up with her six months after the conclusion of the book, with her reputation permanently tarnished, she probably wouldn’t be doing so well. That Skeeter gives all of the maids the choice to opt in or out of telling their stories, that she strives to protect their anonymity, and that she is ostensibly fair about sharing the profits of the book with the women who contributed while all admirable, does not erase the sore feelings I have about her profiting off of these women’s lifetime of struggles. This fact just gnawed at me throughout reading and made me unable to fully enjoy the book.

I do realize, of course, that this is probably more a reality of the historical situation in the 1960’s South than a fault of the story or the author. Realistically, Aibeleen and Minny would have never been able to write and publish anything on their own, due to so many constraints of that time. I also recognize that the cooperation between whites and blacks was important in the Civil Rights movement, so it’s not like the kind of collaboration in “The Help” is unrealistic. Maybe it’s even a good thing that I am irritated by this book - that this wasn’t a purely human interest story about a difficult period in history; there was shameful behavior and there was tumult. But then I think about this book/film having such mass appeal over the summer. I don’t mean to sound condescending, but I just don’t trust that that many people who read it or saw it considered the problematic side of it. I think it was billed as a sort of heartwarming tale of triumph against adversity. This bothers me all over again.

Despite all of the angst above, I think the author’s rendering of some of the relationships between the black maids and the white families is the book’s most endearing feature. Johnnie and Celia Foote’s tears of genuine gratefulness for Minny towards the end; one of Skeeter’s friends telling her in confidence that she credits her maid with helping her overcome her depression and suicide attempts; and of course, Aibeleen’s brimming love and affection for Mae Mobley and their sweet secret story time are among my favorite scenes. These relationships are transcendent, genuine, and yes, heartwarming. In the afterword, Stockett says the one line she truly prizes in her book is this one: “Wasn’t that that point of the book? For women to realize, We are just two people. Not that much separates us. Not nearly as much as I’d thought.” It’s hard to totally knock someone for trying to spread that sentiment around.

Poetry, as promised.

Sat, 17 Dec 2011 02:46:38 -0500

I wrote a haiku almost every day from mid-October to mid-November. Here are some of the best ones:

***

small, neat, seventeen

syllable packages of

emotion. haiku.

***

sleep is a drunken

lover, crawling into bed

well past 2 am.

***

gin and vermouth, you

sneaky little bastards, you

win, okay? you win.

***

tea, stationary,

a croissant, heavy rain, scotch

remind me of you.

***

sharing a bottle

of tempernillo with you -

what could be nicer?

***

my favorite person

in any room. despite time

and place, you still are.

***

you should have held his

hand and kissed him good night, you

stupid idiot.

***

love the happiness

homemade cookies often bring.

hate the stickiness.

***

your handwriting on

an envelope at my door -

my heart is happy.

***

snowy saturday -

under a blanket is the

only place to be.

***

began nervously,

ended overwhelmingly,

in between, superb.

***

to write inspired

haikus, inspiring things must

happen to you first.

My Sister: Stop caring what other people think. It’s your worst quality.

Sat, 17 Dec 2011 02:09:00 -0500

My Sister: Stop caring what other people think. It’s your worst quality.
Me: I resent that. I don’t have any bad qualities.
My Sister: That’s your second worst quality.

Tangible.

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 10:37:00 -0500

I fell asleep

Carelessly -

Hugging a pillow to my chest.

I woke up

Disoriented -

My elbows stiff,

All the muscles in my arms aching.

It’s been a really long time

Since I’ve held anything

Tangible,

Heavy,

Warm,

Real.

Photo

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 10:31:00 -0500

This is my aforementioned 80’s typewriter <3

Mon, 12 Dec 2011 00:52:00 -0500

This is my aforementioned 80’s typewriter <3

Obligatory December Holiday Post

Sat, 10 Dec 2011 14:06:00 -0500

“Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no Virginias. There would be no childlike faith, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence.”

For the past several years, I have been obsessed with the holiday season in the most obvious and superficial way. Firstly, it is a precursor to my birthday and I like to delusionally imagine all the fuss that is being made about Christmas is really being made about me turning a year older on December 30^th. But I also love picking out my Christmas cards and writing special notes in them, visiting Christmas Village at City Hall/Love Park, driving around the local neighborhoods to look at their decorations, blasting carols on the car radio, baking homemade cookies, wearing a silly elf hat, eating candy canes, etc. etc. etc. If it is holiday-related, I probably love it.

I also totally buy into all the clichés that the world is brighter and people are nicer. I know I tend to be nicer. This year for Christmas, my mom bought one of those Advent calendars, but instead of candy, every day from December 1^st through December 24^th has a tab you can open for a “Holiday Good Deed.” I’m taking this calendar as my own personal challenge. My family members are the main beneficiaries of these good deeds, but however you might choose to perform them, they help to inspire a spirit of kindness, togetherness, and giving, which is way more rewarding than a spirit of consumerism and greed. Plus, all of them are relatively simple ways to feel like you’re accomplishing some good in the world. Here are the ones we have done so far. I’ll keep updating as the days go along in case this inspires you to do your own nice things this holiday season.

1) Put birdseed out for the birds.

2) Write thank-you notes to let others know how much you appreciate them.

3) Help decorate something in your home.

4) Say a prayer for a friend.

5) Choose one toy to give to charity.

6) Make and send a holiday card to a friend.

7) Do something nice for a member of your family.

8) Brighten someone’s day by singing.

9) Read the Christmas story to someone else.

10) Give someone a hug.

11) Give a smile to everyone you encounter today.

12) Share a happy thought with someone.

13) Draw a picture and put it on the refrigerator for everyone to enjoy.

14) Do a chore for someone else.

15) Say something you are thankful for.

16) Bake cookies for a neighbor or friend.

17) Be nice to someone who is having a hard day.

18) Help prepare a meal.

19) Give someone a compliment.

20) Call a friend or a relative who lives far away to tell them how much you miss them.

21) Tell someone you love them.

22) Make ~~Jesus~~ Blair a birthday card (my birthday is December 30th!) :)

23) Visit someone who is unable to go out for the holidays.

24) Watch (and cry at) “It’s A Wonderful Life” with someone you love.

(I made #24 up because the suggested one was lame; it’s for sure what I will be doing on Christmas Eve)

In addition to these, I wrote a Letter to Santa for Macy’s A Million Reasons to Believe campaign. For every letter they receive (make sure you put a stamp on it!), they donate $1 to the Make-A-Wish Foundation. I asked Santa to make the world a happier place for people who need happiness the most; it was actually a sweetly nostalgic and fun thing to do.

I’m also trying to get all of my family and friends’ holiday cards together after the new year to donate here: http://www.stjudesranch.org/shop/recycled-card-program/. It’s a really sweet program and much better than simply recycling or trashing your old cards.

If you are reading this, whatever and however you are celebrating this season, I hope it is a little magical and brings smiles to your faces and warmth to your hearts. Happy holidays!

I Wouldn't Like Me If I Met Me (or why this blog exists)

Sat, 10 Dec 2011 00:52:00 -0500

Over gin martinis (which I may or may not be allergic to) with my best friend of ten years, I recently divulged that I’ve spent the past five years of my life not really liking who I am, not even knowing who I am really, which is worse. I guess the idea had been bouncing around in my brain for a while, but it wasn’t until it came out of my mouth last night that I realized the extent to which the statement was true. The past five years have included a soulless, creativity-crushing four years in college, followed by graduation into the worst possible job market for recent grads; two of the most terrible “romantic relationships” a girl could choose for herself and all the emotional baggage that goes along with that; working a dead-end job for over three years that made me miserable to my core and decry that 99% of all people are morons; and tons of diffidence and self-loathing. I feel guilty complaining about these things, because by other standards, like having a loving family, fabulous friends, quality education, and sufficient material resources to live, I have been luckier than almost anyone I know. My intent in writing all of this isn’t really to complain. Only recently have I been working on actively freeing myself from all of the things that bogged me down for so long in order to begin a new quest for happiness and self-improvement. And I want to document that in some way.

I used to be a very active writer and poet, but I have not felt compelled to put words on paper/text on screen in the past six years - until now. I’m not sure what’s prompting it or how exactly I intend to go about it, but I’m just running with it. So that’s why we’re here. On this fancy blog machine. I have a lot of apprehensions about this whole thing - one being that I don’t think my writing is very good and two being that I am weirdly antiquated and somewhat of a technology-phobe. I thought about just writing a diary instead. I’ve always been this way a little bit – I have both an ipod and a bulky portable cassette player; both a Macbook and an 80’s typewriter; I e-mail for “business” but snail mail for personal satisfaction. Sometime in the next five years, the only people you will know who won’t have Smartphones will probably be your grandparents and me. Although my grandfather totally rocks a Blackberry, so maybe I am in a category by myself. I think I have gotten off track. I think the reason I ultimately decided to do this thing rather than just keep a diary hidden under my pillow is that I value the opinions of other intelligent people and I think this is a good forum for people to weigh in on my ramblings and converse with me about my opinions if they want to. I don’t think in the future, everything I write will be this weirdly self-exploratory, so don’t fret.

Back to the pursuit of happiness and self-improvement. I’m working on it. If you talk to me for more than five minutes, you will likely take away that I am pessimistic/realistic/cynical/snarky/etc. It’s just how I view the world. At this point, it is so ingrained in me, it is a permanent part of my personality and of course, my charm. And I won’t apologize for it, because honestly, I don’t think there is anything wrong with being cynical, skeptical, or inquisitive. In fact, I feel it’s very healthy. But it does sometimes admittedly make it difficult to look at life positively and go forth confidently in any direction. The past few months, I’ve found trying to maintain a base-level of optimism completely exhausting. It sounds awful admitting this, but I think there was a great ease and comfort for me in being sad and dissatisfied. Facing the world with angst worked for me for a long while, but at the end of five years, I’m realizing it’s just not a sustainable way to exist. This is going to sound so cheesy, but at the end of every day, deep-down somewhere inside of myself, I know that I am a special, beautiful woman. I especially see this fact reflected in the amazing people I surround myself with, whom I could not possibly love, admire, and respect more than I already do. I just need to work on bringing that love, admiration, and respect to the forefront of my own mind. The past month or two, I have really been focused on spending time with the people who bring out the best in me while forgetting about the people who always leave me feeling crummy; on putting my energy into projects like reading challenging literature, mentoring children, and writing poetry that bring me a sense of fulfillment; and generally, striving to be someone that if I met, I would like.

"Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I..."

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 15:08:00 -0500

“Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven’t been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn’t it be the other way around? I don’t really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.””

- Kathleen Kelly, You’ve Got Mail