I can tell you that once upon a time when I was doing public events people would ask me, "What do you think about the arts?, What do you think of the… - Margaret Atwood

Sometimes she would cry. I was so lonely, she'd say. You have no idea how lonely I was. And I had friends, I was a lucky one, but I was lonely anyway.

I admired my mother in some ways, although things between us were never easy. She expected too much from me, I felt. She expected me to vindicate her life for her, and the choices she'd made. I didn't want to live my life on her terms. I didn't want to be the model offspring, the incarnation of her ideas. We used to fight about that. I am not your justification for existence, I said her to once.
I want her back. I want everything back, the way it was. But there is no point to it, this wanting.

I didn't much like it, this grudge-holding against the past.

But this is wrong, nobody dies from lack of sex. It's lack of love we die from.