We’re reading The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath in English. I don’t know if it’s a good book because I can relate to it and understand it, having gone through a lot of the same emotions as Ester, or if I relate to it because it is a good book. But I’m getting worried about how much it is reminding me of my past. I don’t want to go back to that dark place. I’m starting to feel dead again. I'm forgetting things.
We went out to eat for dinner last weekend. For an hour I sat and did absolutely nothing but watch the fish in the tank across from me. Two were the same kind and I nearly cried any time they swam away from each other. They were supposed to be together. But the bigger fish, with its harsh red eye, kept getting in the way. Another fish was a luminescent white that shone whenever it passed in front of the light. It was beautiful. The last fish followed its reflection in the glass up and down and up and down and up and down over and over and over again. I wanted it to stop. It was me again, stuck in the rut of life doing the same things over and over and over. I need a change. I need life to be different. I need it now.
On the way home, it was lightly snowing. I noticed one flake hit the window and could think of nothing else. It was whole, unlike many of the others stuck to the glass, and symmetrical. It fluttered as it struck, almost breaking free, but something held it. And it was wrong. I wanted to push it off, and almost tried through the glass before I realized that the heat of my finger would ruin the flake’s perfection. Instead, I tried to blow the flake off, for surely my breath on the inside of the car would surpass the winds created as we drove down the highway.
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