My belief about acting in one foot on a banana peel and the other one in the grave.

Bombs explode. Sometimes the ground shakes. Fire crackers go boom. For my butt is aching to blow up the comode.

It’s not that I don’t suffer, it’s that I know the unimportance of suffering, I know that pain is to be fought and thrown aside, not to be accepted as part of one’s soul and as a permanent scar across one’s view of existence.

I have done, this year, what I said I would: overcome my fear of facing a blank page day after day, acknowledging myself, in my deepest emotions, a writer, come what may.

Written By Sylvia Plath

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