“This is your life and you're so deep in it that you can't unmake it, you can't unbirth your baby because she wishes to be alive, you can't remake your career, there's no way you'll be a professional dancer anymore or join the philharmonic, don't even fantasize about one day becoming that avant-garde independent filmmaker because you're here, feeling like you did when your mother died but now wondering who around you thinks it's of importance to know how difficult it is to nurse? Or how often you are covered— down to your elbows-in feces when changing diapers? What difference does it make if anyone knows the quantity of laundry that is created between these four walls? Or the hanging of the laundry, the folding of the laundry. Who wants to recognize the repetition? Who cares about what domesticity is made of?
The very thing that brought us into this world and its conditions are spat upon.”