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Rosie |
by Anne Lamott |
She panicked frequently at how quickly the time flew and yet how every day loomed before her like a dragon, waiting to be slain. Looking in the mirror she saw how quickly she was aging, saw herself as Dave the Spaceman at the end of 2001; laugh lines had turned to crow's-feet. She slept late, spent an hour at the breakfast table mechanically reading the Chronicle, cleaned up the kitchen, went around the house picking up Andrew's carpenter's stuff, clothes, shoes, apple cores, and books. Then it was time for lunch. She read while eating, often ending up in the living room reading just one more chapter, and then just one more chapter. Then she might pore over the Help Wanted listings in the paper, maybe reread the entire front section. An hour or two in the garden, and then a mile walk into town for the exercise and to shop ... and eventually Andrew would return from his happy work, and they would have cocktails and dinner and funny talks and read or go to a show, and then it would be time for bed, for sex and sleep. Unless she had insomnia. And most of this was done swathed in a gauze of loneliness and boredom and anxiety. (Page 9)
Elizabeth began to hate backpacking after another hour on the trail. The pack was too heavy for words. Her back and feet ached. All that kept her going was the thought of rest—and rum. She and Rae had run out of things to say, and Rae looked increasingly nervous, which Elizabeth attributed to her concern with Elizabeth's mood. Be a good sport. It will be over soon. That's it, one step after another. I really want to go home, want to be home, but since I'm here, with Rae, I will try not to be a bitch."God, the air smells good," she said. "Clean and sweet, like creek water." Half an hour more, I figure, of birds and flowers and trees. "And pine: God, these woods. I know why you love it so much." Friendly as possible.
"You are undergoing the great rewards of what we call the Backpacking Experience—the air, the freedom, the landscape. Don't you feel you could keep walking forever?"
"No." (Page 98)
