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Virginia
Woolf
wrote
,
"
Across
the
broad
continent
of
a
woman
’
s
life
falls
the
shadow
of
a
sword
.
"
On
one
side
of
that
sword
,
she
said
,
there
lies
convention
and
tradition
and
order
,
where
"
all
is
correct
.
"
But
on
the
other
side
of
that
sword
,
if
you
’
re
crazy
enough
to
cross
it
and
choose
a
life
that
does
not
follow
convention
,
"
all
is
confusion
.
Nothing
follows
a
regular
course
.
"
Her
argument
was
that
the
crossing
of
the
shadow
of
that
sword
may
bring
a
far
more
interesting
existence
to
a
woman
,
but
you
can
bet
it
will
also
be
more
perilous
.
I
’
m
lucky
that
at
least
I
have
my
writing
.
This
is
something
people
can
understand
.
Ah
,
she
left
her
marriage
in
order
to
preserve
her
art
.
That
’
s
sort
of
true
,
though
not
completely
so
.
A
lot
of
writers
have
families
.
Toni
Morrison
,
just
to
name
an
example
,
didn
’
t
let
the
raising
of
her
son
stop
her
from
winning
a
little
trinket
we
call
the
Nobel
Prize
.
But
Toni
Morrison
made
her
own
path
,
and
I
must
make
mine
.
The
Bhagavad
Gita
-
that
ancient
Indian
Yogic
text
-
says
that
it
is
better
to
live
your
own
destiny
imperfectly
than
to
live
an
imitation
of
somebody
else
’
s
life
with
perfection
.
So
now
I
have
started
living
my
own
life
.
Imperfect
and
clumsy
as
it
may
look
,
it
is
resembling
me
now
,
thoroughly
.
Anyway
,
I
bring
all
this
up
only
to
admit
that
-
in
comparison
to
my
sister
’
s
existence
,
to
her
home
and
to
her
good
marriage
and
to
her
children
-
I
’
m
looking
pretty
unstable
these
days
.
I
don
’
t
even
have
an
address
,
and
that
’
s
kind
of
a
crime
against
normality
at
this
ripe
old
age
of
thirty
-
four
.
Even
at
this
very
moment
,
all
my
belongings
are
stored
in
Catherine
’
s
home
and
she
’
s
given
me
a
temporary
bedroom
on
the
top
floor
of
her
house
(
which
we
call
"
The
Maiden
Aunt
’
s
Quarters
,
"
as
it
includes
a
garret
window
through
which
I
can
stare
out
at
the
moors
while
dressed
in
my
old
wedding
gown
,
grieving
my
lost
youth
)
.
Catherine
seems
to
be
fine
with
this
arrangement
,
and
it
’
s
certainly
convenient
for
me
,
but
I
’
m
wary
of
the
danger
that
if
I
drift
about
this
world
randomly
for
too
long
,
I
may
someday
become
The
Family
Flake
.
Or
it
may
have
already
happened
.
Last
summer
,
my
five
-
year
-
old
niece
had
a
little
friend
over
to
my
sister
’
s
house
to
play
.
I
asked
the
child
when
her
birthday
was
.
She
told
me
it
was
January
25
.
"
Uh
-
oh
!
"
I
said
.
"
You
’
re
an
Aquarius
!
I
’
ve
dated
enough
Aquarians
to
know
that
they
are
trouble
"
Both
the
five
-
year
-
olds
looked
at
me
with
bewilderment
and
a
bit
of
fearful
uncertainty
.
I
had
a
sudden
horrifying
image
of
the
woman
I
might
become
if
I
’
m
not
careful
:
Crazy
Aunt
Liz
.
The
divorcee
in
the
muumuu
with
the
dyed
orange
hair
who
doesn
’
t
eat
dairy
but
smokes
menthols
,
who
’
s
always
just
coming
back
from
her
astrology
cruise
or
breaking
up
with
her
aroma
-
therapist
boyfriend
,
who
reads
the
Tarot
cards
of
kindergarteners
and
says
things
like
,
"
Bring
Aunty
Liz
another
wine
cooler
,
baby
,
and
I
’
ll
let
you
wear
my
mood
ring
…
"
Eventually
I
may
have
to
become
a
more
solid
citizen
again
,
I
’
m
aware
of
this
.
But
not
yet
…
please
.
Not
just
yet
.
Over
the
next
six
weeks
,
I
travel
to
Bologna
,
to
Florence
,
to
Venice
,
to
Sicily
,
to
Sardinia
,
once
more
down
to
Naples
,
then
over
to
Calabria
.
These
are
short
trips
,
mostly
-
a
week
here
,
a
weekend
there
-
just
the
right
amount
of
time
to
get
the
feel
for
a
place
,
to
look
around
,
to
ask
people
on
the
street
where
the
good
food
is
and
then
to
go
eat
it
.
I
drop
out
of
my
Italian
language
school
,
having
come
to
feel
that
it
was
interfering
with
my
efforts
to
learn
Italian
,
since
it
was
keeping
me
stuck
in
the
classroom
instead
of
wandering
around
Italy
,
where
I
could
practice
with
people
in
person
.
