[b]Liane Moriarty
Everyone had another sort of life up their sleeve that might have made them happy.[/b]
He wondered: what happened to mine?
She’d never really believed in it before. Then, as she hit her late thirties, her body said, OK, you don’t believe in PMS? I’ll show you PMS. Get a load of this, bitch. Now, for one day every month, she had to fake everything: her basic humanity, her love for her children, her love for Ed. She’d once been appalled to hear of women claiming PMS as a defense for murder. Now she understood. She could happily murder someone today! In fact, she felt like there should be some sort of recognition for her remarkable strength of character that she didn’t.
Of course most men still don’t believe in it.
Was there anything better than to be wanted? Was that all anyone really needed?
For some sure, that’s all they need. For others though [like me] it’s to be left alone.
That’s what’s so embarrassing about all this. Each time I sobbed for a lost baby, it was like sobbing over the end of a relationship when I’d never even gone out with the guy. My babies weren’t babies. They were just microscopic clusters of cells that weren’t ever going to be anything else. they were just my own desperate hopes. Dream babies. And people have to give up on dreams.
Rationalizations. There must be trillions and trillions of them by now.
The suffragettes didn’t starve themselves for the vote, so that you girls could starve yourselves for a man.
Do girls still do that?
The words “I’m sorry” felt like an insult. You said “I’m sorry” when you bumped against someone’s supermarket [cart]. There need to be bigger words.
On the other hand, nowadays you’re lucky to get any reaction at all.