HABITS

I began to write about my deepening depression:

“Habits. My only recourse to escape the clawing boredom, the gray non-ness of my life, has been to break them—the little ones, for I haven’t the courage to break the big ones. So I plopped myself down in a field of wildflowers one noon, and I went to the school late one night—to rule out squares on a piece of fabric so that the next day the children could draw their patch pictures for our quilt. When Karl came, later, he was so pleased to see me—for the unexpected company—that his pleasure was a ray of light in the obscurity, the ambiguity of our relationship.

“I took new ways to school and new ways home and lucklessly happened down each of the city’s cul-de-sacs. These outings—these minor forays away from habit—don’t help much, but they do a little.

“I think the nicest thing that happened all week was hearing from Ally’s mother that Ally had confided to her that she loved me—and that I was her ‘girlfriend.’

“Children’s love. I found myself wishing it were possible to be loved by another adult with that unshakable simplicity.”