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Eve Drewelowe's journals, volumes II-III, 1950s
Page 204
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What am I to do? I am every bit - utterly helpless - bound hopelessly. All I am asking now, however, if to live, it must be with a stomach, that it shall be on my own terms. At least I may be permitted to live in my own way. There is no tinge of resentment in my plea. If there ever has been any I hope it may have burned out long ago and now I am but trying to make the most of an unfortunate situation. One of the greatest troubles with our complex, civilization is that we have not been wise enough to learn to distinguish true values from the false; the pertinent from the irrelevent. It takes months of enforced rest with time to contemplate the vissitudes of life before even a glimmer of light may begin to percolate through a scarsely discernable crack in the stolid wall of civilization. The wall, so painfully devised and erected; so imprenable; so impervious to new ideas; to rebel thoughts and spirits. For the first time in my life, I have dared to try and sort out the events that have moulded my world and me. This cataloguing to the end that I might have some understanding universe, myself and the whyfore of it all. To the end that I might find peace. It would seem that the worthwhile in the process of gradually being sifted is rising to the top. The sediment is settling to the bottom. From now on it shall be my desire to skin but the top cream and save the drugs settled undisturbedly int he desk of life. From now on moreover, life shall have to seek me out, not I life. It used to be that I kept from one pinacle to another; from one crag to the next. There however, came the times when the jump was short and connections weren't established. Then unfortunately down the crevices I tumbled into a yawning chasm below to define a new low. It is in such
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What am I to do? I am every bit - utterly helpless - bound hopelessly. All I am asking now, however, if to live, it must be with a stomach, that it shall be on my own terms. At least I may be permitted to live in my own way. There is no tinge of resentment in my plea. If there ever has been any I hope it may have burned out long ago and now I am but trying to make the most of an unfortunate situation. One of the greatest troubles with our complex, civilization is that we have not been wise enough to learn to distinguish true values from the false; the pertinent from the irrelevent. It takes months of enforced rest with time to contemplate the vissitudes of life before even a glimmer of light may begin to percolate through a scarsely discernable crack in the stolid wall of civilization. The wall, so painfully devised and erected; so imprenable; so impervious to new ideas; to rebel thoughts and spirits. For the first time in my life, I have dared to try and sort out the events that have moulded my world and me. This cataloguing to the end that I might have some understanding universe, myself and the whyfore of it all. To the end that I might find peace. It would seem that the worthwhile in the process of gradually being sifted is rising to the top. The sediment is settling to the bottom. From now on it shall be my desire to skin but the top cream and save the drugs settled undisturbedly int he desk of life. From now on moreover, life shall have to seek me out, not I life. It used to be that I kept from one pinacle to another; from one crag to the next. There however, came the times when the jump was short and connections weren't established. Then unfortunately down the crevices I tumbled into a yawning chasm below to define a new low. It is in such
Iowa Women’s Lives: Letters and Diaries
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