This is what I miss, Cordelia: not something that’s gone, but something that will never happen. Two old women giggling over their tea. - Margaret Atwood

What am I living for and what am I dying for are the same question.

Waste not want not. I am not being wasted. Why do I want?

I thought everyone would be familiar with this figure: if I'd studied a thing in school I assumed it was general knowledge. I hadn't yet discovered that I lived in a sort of transparent balloon, drifting over the world without making much contact with it, and that the people I knew appeared to me at a different angle from the one at which they appeared to themselves; and that the reverse was also true. I was smaller to others, up there in my balloon, than I was to myself. I was also blurrier.