Erin

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Miranda July
“Without a child I could dance across the sexism of my era, whereas becoming a mother shoved my face right down into it.”
Miranda July, All Fours

Miranda July
“But this was no good, this line of thought. This was the thinking that had kept every woman from her greatness. There did not have to be an answer to the question why; everything important started out mysterious and this mystery was like a great sea you had to be brave enough to cross. How many times had I turned back at the first ripple of self-doubt? You had to withstand a profound sense of wrongness if you ever wanted to get somewhere new. So far each thing I had done in Monrovia was guided by a version of me that had never been in charge before. A nitwit? A madwoman? Probably. But my more seasoned parts just had to be patient, hold their tongues - their many and sharp tongues - and give this new girl a chance.”
Miranda July, All Fours

Miranda July
“What you see is what you get," these women said about themselves. For me lying created just the right amount of problems and what you saw was just one of my four or five faces -- each real, each with different needs. The only dangerous lie was one that asked me to compress myself down into a single convenient entity that one person could understand. I was a kaleidoscope, each glittering piece of glass changing as I turned.”
Miranda July, All Fours

Miranda July
“With a partner you had the story of how you met, choosing each other out of everyone in the world, and the years together were chaptered with joint decisions - no one could ever say it was all a dream; both parties were accountable. Not so with a child. For the child it WAS a dream. And the unpunctuated days into years moved much more quickly (for the parent), so all one could do was free-fall through the chaos, madly making sandwiches and washing hair and hope that there would be some ritual, some time for reflection, at the end.”
Miranda July, All Fours

Miranda July
“Harris couldn’t see the haunting and this was the worst part: to be living with someone who fundamentally didn’t believe me and was really, really sick of having to pretend to empathize—or else be the bad guy! In his own home! How infuriating for him. And how infuriating to be the wife and not other women who could enjoy how terrific he was. How painful for both of us, especially given that we were modern, creative types used to living in our dreams of the future.”
Miranda July, All Fours

6966 NaNoWriMo 2012 — 1044 members — last activity Oct 31, 2013 03:51PM
NaNoWriMo 2012
1044066 The 52 Book Club: 2026 Challenge — 27007 members — last activity 22 minutes ago
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