I feel like part of my anxiety is stemming from the fact that I am 28 years old, and when my mom was 28, she was already more than halfway through her life – she just didn’t know it yet. And I’m writing this book about my grandparents and literally sitting in history each day reading love letters and transcribing. I’m stuck in multiple eras. I feel everything. I’m being pulled in every direction. I’m old and young love, I’m middle aged and a child. I’m my mother and I am myself and I feel spread out among the universe. I don’t know whether or not I have feet in the mortal plane, the immortal plane, and the theoretical plane. I feel everywhere. It’s frightening. Because everywhere long enough just becomes nowhere and that’s the last place I want to be.

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