A Curtsy to the Original "Lady"

I don’t know if Jane Austen would approve but I know that I approve. Ultimately that is what counts and this self-acceptance is what makes or unmakes us. With my trusty netbook, I have the good fortune of deleting a misspoken thought. Jane Austen however would have had to use scissors and pen-knives and mutilate paper. Paper, which my sister so rhapsodizes about.

        I am afraid of myself because of what I will reveal and also by what I will not. I hope by the end of it to have distanced myself from my feet and be happy. I hope I can get the words out. I remember attending university and dreaming about my English literature professor who was speaking to me, and sitting at my bedside. She told me that certain things are difficult to speak about, and I was trying to agree with her but I could not even get the words out. Although dreaming, I felt the weight of rocks weighing down my tongue. There are some dreams no matter how old,that I refuse to forget. My sister told me that I was a woman of few words between the ages of one and ten. People would visit us, and the grown-ups would ask the predictable questions are generally asked of small children, I would always look to my sister to do all of that for me. I don’t know if I necessarily know how to use my words now but I certainly can attempt. I know speaking all of this out would definitely be a bit more of a challenge.