I'm reading the Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath....I'm near the beginning of the 700 page volume so I'm getting to know 18-year-old Plath. She is so ahead of her time and insightful.
I'm pretty sure that when I was 18 I was writing BFF and 98 Rulz in yearbooks. But then again, I'm not a genius.
"then it hit me and I just blurted, 'I like people too much or not at all. I've got to go down deep to fall into people, to really know them.'"
"Yes, I was infatuated with you; I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn't stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren't having any of those..."
And...hello third wave feminism....in 1950...
"I have too much conscience injected in me to break customs without disastrous effects; I can only lean enviously against eh boundary and hate, hate, hate the boys who can dispel sexual hunger freely, without misgiving, and be whole, while I drag out from date to date in soggy desire, always unfulfilled. The whole thing sickens me..."
"After a while I supposed I'll get used to the idea of marriage and children. If only it doesn't swallow up my desires to express myself in a smug, sensuous haze. Sure, marriage is self expression, but if only my art, my writing, isn't just a mere sublimation of my sexual desires which will run dry once i get married. If only I can find him...the man who will be intelligent, yet physically magnetic and personable. If I can offer that combination, why shouldn't I expect it in a man?"