Snowwhite

I have done nothing all summer but wait for myself to be myself again —

​“Today is a lousy day. It is pouring wet cold unsentimental rain and the gray streets are puddled with it and the trees are slippery with it and my feet are muddy with it and the windows are splotched with it and my hair is damp with it and damn it all to hell anyway. There! I feel much better now.”

(ID: a poem by OP.)

“It is extraordinary that nobody nowadays under the stress of great troubles is turned into stone or a bird or a tree or some inanimate object; they used to undergo such metamorphoses in ancient times (or so they say), though whether that is myth or a true story I know not. Maybe it would be better to change one’s nature into something that lacks all feeling, rather than be so sensitive to evil. Had that been possible, these calamities would in all probability have turned me to stone.”