Status Updates From Blue Nights

I get so wrapped up in how heartsore and beautiful her imagery is until suddenly I get pulled out by shockingly clunky syntax (ex: pink magnolias, page 8).
Reading Didion always makes me feel lost in a dream, face pressed up against thick glass. On the other side is a deeply refined and elegant life I didn't even realize I was missing. I can't quite relate. Intrigued and repulsed all at once.

“When I began writing these pages I believed their subject to be children, the ones we have and the ones we wish we had, the ways in which we depend on our children to depend on us, the ways in which we encourage them to remain children, the ways in which they remain more unknown to us than they do to their more casual acquaintances; the ways in which we remain equally opaque to them.”