![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
i always kind of tragically come back to this point: more than anything else i've ever read--and i've read a lot a lot--this book defines me almost exactly.
i never felt i had that much in common with betsy ray, except in this book. every single awkward thing she does to ~improve~ herself i've done in some form. every awkward, self-deprecating, harmfully hopefully thing she thinks in order to ~improve~ herself, i've thought. i know we all do and think these kinds of things, but she and i are basically identical here. that list she makes in tib's house in milwaukee--how many forms of that list have i made, only to do as she does and toss it aside knowing that i'm just not meant to be like that, and that it's not comfortable anyway?
i never felt i had that much in common with betsy ray, except in this book. every single awkward thing she does to ~improve~ herself i've done in some form. every awkward, self-deprecating, harmfully hopefully thing she thinks in order to ~improve~ herself, i've thought. i know we all do and think these kinds of things, but she and i are basically identical here. that list she makes in tib's house in milwaukee--how many forms of that list have i made, only to do as she does and toss it aside knowing that i'm just not meant to be like that, and that it's not comfortable anyway?
