There's a line from a poem that I can't place: "Her dark is a bag/ with a man in it" Possibly Matthew Sweeney. Can you help? It's driving me nuts.
I'm thinking of it today because it so effectively captures nighttime anxiety: darkness becomes like fighting with someone in a space that itself seems to be clinging to you. There's a hint of kittens in bag dropped into a river about the lines too. Darkness, Struggle, Menace.
I feel like that about having to face the next chapter of the third culture lit book. I'm in a bag with Barbara Kingsolver's Poisonwood Bible and my lap top. Darkness, Struggle, Menace.
Let's see who's alive at the end of the month, shall we?